Wheels Within Wheels - Part Three
by Bfd1235813
Summary: Part Three of the story of Harry Potter and Daphne Greengrass, their friends, family, careers and adventures. As Harry and Daphne grow in their personal relationship, they face challenges in their careers and family lives. They learn as they go, the bonds between them strengthening with each crisis.
1. Chapter 1

**_Author's Note and Acknowledgement_**

 ** _This the third segment of Wheels Within Wheels, the story of Harry Potter and Daphne Greengrass, their life, times, families, careers and adventures. Parts One and Two precede Part Three, Iolanthe, chronologically, and contain lots of useful information for readers of Part Three, but I suppose you can start here if you're determined._**

 ** _The author makes no claim to anything in this story. It all belongs to JK Rowling, genius-creator of Harry Potter, the Potterverse, and all who sail therein. Thank-you Ms. Rowling! We are eternally grateful._**

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter One

Daphne's News

Harry Potter found himself in a state of wonderment throughout the spring after Daphne Greengrass accepted his proposal of marriage. Life with Daphne seemed to get more delightful with each passing week. Harry couldn't believe his luck. After failing, miserably, and publicly, at love for so long, Harry stumbled into a relationship with a beautiful witch, a healer with an intimidating resume', who was wise in all the areas where Harry was ignorant, and had shown herself brave and skilled enough to stand up in the face of the danger that always seemed to find him.

Daphne's engagement ring, a large emerald encircled by diamonds in a platinum setting, was a prime topic of conversation among their set of younger witches and wizards. It was beautiful enough to merit comment, just for how it looked on her hand, but Daphne's ring had an air of enchantment about it, for those who were sensitive to such things.

Harry and Daphne were aware the goblins who had crafted the ring had put some extras into it. The goblins had included a charm that would cause the ring to return to Daphne if it were to be taken without permission. Harry had also noticed, when he put the ring on Daphne's finger, it appeared to adjust itself for a perfect fit, no easy trick to accomplish with platinum. He wondered what else would emerge, since his relations with goblins always seemed to have an embedded element of surprise somewhere.

They had skipped throwing an engagement party, partly because they had just hosted one at #12 Grimmauld Place in December, and did not want to go through the planning for a second so soon. Instead, Fabio and Kendra Greengrass had sent a note to the society editor of the Daily Prophet, resulting in a short story on an inside page. The gossip about the ring was, in effect, their announcement.

Daphne and Harry had been working together to restore and improve a property Harry had inherited, that went by the name of The Mill. With some help from Winky the house elf, they had taken an abandoned building and made it into a getaway cottage. They had set out to keep the place simple and uncluttered, as a retreat from their complicated city lives. Harry had mostly watched as Daphne had transformed the London townhouse, #12 Grimmauld Place, demonstrating her sure sense of color and design. He pitched in more and more as they worked on The Mill, mostly doing the assignments Daphne handed off to him, at the same time becoming more confident in the suggestions he proposed.

When Daphne and Harry began work, The Mill had been neglected for many years. The structure, though, was sound. A thorough cleaning, some repair and replacement of the roof tiles, and the addition of bathrooms brought The Mill into the current century, and made it a habitation, albeit spare. Basic furniture shopping gave them something more to work on, as well as some interesting weekend field trips to flea markets and second-hand stores, both magical and muggle-operated, looking for tables, chairs and bedroom furnishings that would fit the setting and preserve the feel of a country retreat.

Harry and Daphne had taken Daphne's parents, sister, and her sister's fiancé, Draco Malfoy, picnicking at The Mill on the first nice weekend in March. They had introduced Astoria, Daphne's sister, to the fairies that inhabited the site of The Mill. The fairies had shown their appreciation for Astoria by circling her head in numbers sufficient to form a crown of tiny lights. Harry suggested offering The Mill for a honeymoon destination, at least for a few days, to give the newlyweds a chance to decompress.

The date for the wedding was fixed in April. The venue was to be the gardens of Greengrass Manor, on the tenth of June. Astoria wanted to be married outdoors, with only the summer sky above and the flowers and shrubs of Fabio's gardens for décor, so the ceremony was to begin at ten, in hopes the sun would not be too brutal. Fabio and Kendra were each in their element, Fabio tending his beds with a crew of garden elves every day after he had finished his work in the family enterprises, and Kendra compiling lists of invitees from several continents, drafting food and beverage orders, and chasing after Astoria for answers to questions rooted in the arcana of wizarding weddings.

Daphne had adopted Wednesday afternoons as a mid-week work break from her earliest days in practice. She had formerly closeted herself in a semi-private office at St. Mungo's Hospital and used the time to catch up with her patient records as well as the usual flood of administrative work that accompanies health care.

She had begun in December to come to #12 Grimmauld Place each Wednesday afternoon, and to use her study for some very quiet and productive hours. She had the assistance of Kreacher, the house elf of #12. Kreacher had become the avatar of the efficient, attentive, discreet, in short, the ideal house elf. He was an excellent chef, and could make a better pot of black tea than anyone, or any elf, Daphne knew.

Harry liked keeping busy. That was fortunate during the spring, as activity surrounding Astoria and Draco's wedding increased. Harry and Daphne reconciled their calendars regularly, just to make sure neither was making commitments at cross-purposes to the other, or missing appointments. Following Kendra's advice, Daphne had blocked out July 7 and 17 on both her and Harry's magical planners, although Kendra hadn't been able to tell her for what she was saving them.

Harry tried to keep his own Wednesday afternoons uncluttered, especially after three p.m. He habitually worked long hours, and went to the office on Saturdays, sometimes Sundays as well. With Daphne taking her Wednesday afternoons at #12, Harry had quickly become accustomed to coming home a bit early, getting the kinks out with a little workout in his home martial arts dojo, taking a shower, then taking Daphne out to eat, usually at Morgan le Fay's or the Leaky Cauldron.

Daphne and Harry took a daytrip to Hogwarts during the third week in April. Daphne seemed a little less lively than usual. Harry watched her closely, as much as he was able. They had individual schedules, Harry's oriented toward Professor Millicent Bulstrode's Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, and Daphne's toward consultations with her medical colleague, Madame Pomfrey, the librarian, Madame Pince, and Headmistress McGonagall.

Harry and Daphne met up again for lunch at the Great Hall. Harry and Millicent had just come back from the quidditch pitch, where Harry had been running drills for sixth and seventh years who had shown interest in careers as aurors. Both had towels around their necks and were still dabbing at sweaty faces when they got to the entrance hall, where Daphne and Harry had agreed to meet.

"Daphne!" Millicent called out.

"Professor!" Daphne responded. "How did he do?"

"Brilliant, but you knew that," Millicent said. "Are we ready?"

"Sure," said Harry.

The little group entered the Great Hall and walked up the center aisle toward the dais and the staff table. One of the Gryffindor students spotted them first, and stood up, followed by another, and almost as one, the remainder of the Gryffindors. No one said 'Harry Potter,' but the eyes of the entire Gryffindor student body showed the house was keenly aware their most famous (living) alumnus was among them.

One-half of the Slytherin table was facing the spectacle, and, not to be outdone, stood, causing the other side of the table to stand up as well. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws seemed confused, and some students at each table stood, some stood and sat back down, and others looked toward the staff table for guidance.

Once the Gryffindors noticed the Slytherins were standing, presumably for their already-distinguished alumna, Healer Daphne Greengrass, MD, PhD, they felt it was time to raise the ante, and burst into applause. The Slytherins answered in kind. Everyone enjoys a standing ovation, it seems, and the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs finally surrendered to the moment, stood, and began to applaud, just to be polite.

Harry knew the only way to keep lunch on schedule was to keep moving, so he strode to the front with purpose and waited while Millicent and Daphne climbed the steps to the dais.

"Be right back," he said, as Millicent went past.

He walked to the front-center of the dais and raised his hand. The clamor died almost instantly.

"Thank-you," he said. "Healer Greengrass and I are honored to be here, and to be greeted in such fashion. Now, we will be here a little longer, and if you see us out and about, we would love to meet you individually, so feel free to introduce yourselves, but for now, I strongly suggest we all turn our attention to lunch, or your distinguished faculty will start deducting house points out of sheer hunger."

The Head Auror's lame jokes are always funny, before any audience, and the Gryffindors took the opportunity to clap, whistle and laugh louder than anyone else, but they quickly ran out of steam and took their seats.

Millicent escorted them down the row of faculty and staff, making introductions when they encountered someone who had come since Harry and Daphne had left. Three seats were left at the end, where Millicent would sit between them. Harry got Daphne seated. Harry was just pulling his chair up to his place at the table when he heard Millicent.

"What's that you're wearing, Daphne?" asked Millicent.

"What?" replied Daphne, feigning a look around at her emerald green linen skirt and emerald green linen jacket, before noticing she had an emerald ring on the third finger of her left hand, that probably hadn't been there the last time she'd seen Millicent.

"Oh! You mean _this_ ," she said, dropping her hand at the wrist to give Millicent an unobstructed view. "His Nibs got to feeling a little romantic, and he commissioned this and presented it to me to mark the occasion of our engagement. It's one of a kind, like him."

Harry tried not to look at the two of them, Millicent hugging Daphne and making appreciative comments and Daphne responding with appreciations of Millicent's appreciations. Eventually, the ring-talk was exhausted, and Millicent turned to Harry.

"When?" she said. "And I don't want to hear 'next year sometime.'"

"Don't know," Harry said. "Draco and Astoria are absorbing all of the Greengrass planning capacity. They're on for the tenth of June. As soon as we get them taken care of, I guess. I'm good to go. July, how's that?"

Harry had pulled July out of the air, a placeholder for Millicent's question. He looked past Millicent toward Daphne, who looked stunned, just momentarily, before giving him a little smile. Millicent turned back to Daphne.

"Well?" she asked.

"Could be possible, just," Daphne said. "Like Harry said, though, we can't do both things at once."

Harry enjoyed lunch. He had enjoyed the approximately four hours he had spent with Millicent and her classes in the morning, but that was a professional engagement. Lunch was another matter. Millicent Bulstrode was a formidable fighter and an extrovert, and a natural raconteur. She kept Daphne and Harry laughing throughout lunch with a steady _sotto voce_ commentary on Hogwarts gossip, Hogwarts eccentrics, and her girlfriend's large, loving, and fractious family, the Weasleys.

Harry was thoroughly familiar with the Weasleys, and had his own perspectives on individual Weasley personalities. He found Millicent's observations both accurate and very, very droll.

Following lunch, Harry and Daphne followed the Headmistress to her office for tea and lemon squares. Harry thought Daphne seemed diffident about the food, but she never was big on either quantities, or dessert, so he wrote it off to fatigue and a wish to finish up the visit and get back to London.

"Well, first of all, congratulations, Harry, and best wishes for many, many happy years together Daphne," said Professor McGonagall, observing the old custom of refraining from congratulating the prospective bride. "I hope we can keep seeing you both here, often. Millicent said her seventh-years were ready to revolt if they didn't get their customary Field Day.

"Thank-you for stopping to see Poppy, Daphne. It means so much to her when you visit. Some of our other healer alumni haven't been back since they left Hogwarts, not that there is any requirement that they do so, but Poppy does like to offer a seat and engage in a little professional chit chat. Was it chit chat today, or…?"

The Headmistress left the question hanging. There were, after all, ethical questions of patient confidentiality, so she couldn't ask outright. As Chief of Service for Mental Maladies at St. Mungo's, Daphne was the designated Hogwarts consultant for anything in her field of specialization that exceeded Madame Pomfrey's qualifications.

"Oh, there were a couple of little things we touched on, just general topics," Daphne said. "Do you have any specific concerns?"

"Not unless there is something you think you and Poppy need to bring to my attention," said Professor McGonagall.

"Not today," Daphne said.

"That's fine," Professor McGonagall, "I'll put myself in your capable hands. Now, what else do two big city sophisticates such as yourselves have for an old country school teacher? I used to be able to count on Percy Weasley to give me an update, once or twice a year, on the latest ministry foolishness, but Audrey appears to have taught him the joys of keeping his cards close to his vest."

"Blaise Zabini, from our year, and Oliver Wood organized a club for magicals in London, did you know about that?" Daphne asked.

"Really?" said Professor McGonagall.

"Yes indeed," Harry said. "It's in a high-rise near the Thames, with incredible views. Daphne looked down and spotted a dragon flying right over London one night when we were there. Anytime you want to come down we'll be happy to take you.

"Neville and Hannah have really made something special out of the Leaky Cauldron. The food is better than ever, and the main room is full from around eleven until seven or eight at night. My godson, Teddy Lupin, Remus and Tonk's son, will be starting here in the fall. Draco and Astoria are cute together…" Harry ran out of news items.

"All good stuff," Professor McGonagall said, sneaking a look at her wristwatch. "I need to pack up. Unless, Daphne, you'd like to come be a special resource for my NEWT transfiguration class."

"Oh, not today, but let's think about it some other time!" Daphne said.

Harry stood up.

"We'll be back, Professor," Harry said.

"Take care," said the professor.

Harry went down the spiral stairs first, holding his right hand up over his shoulder to give Daphne something to steady herself. He had come close to tumbling on the tricky stairs numerous times as a young, nimble student. He resolved to ask Professor McGonagall on a future visit if something couldn't be done to install a handrail (doubtful) or cast a no-tumbling-down-the-stairs charm (surely _someone_ on the staff could do one).

"Just a quick stop here, please," Daphne said as they passed one of the girls' restrooms.

Harry waited outside, shaking hands and passing on regards, if he knew the parents of the student whose hand he was shaking.

Daphne emerged, smiling.

"Ready?" she asked.

But Daphne was almost as well-known as Harry, especially among the female students, and was a recognized heroine to those who wanted to follow her in qualifying as a healer. She soon had a circle of confident young women around her, stretching out hands, gripping firmly, and looking her straight in the eye, saying things like, "Very pleased to meet you, Healer Greengrass," and "Rebecca, also of Slytherin House, pleasure, Healer Greengrass."

The students only thinned out as class start time approached.

"Anyone else you need to see before we go?" Harry asked.

"Not me," Daphne said. "Did you have anyone?"

"I didn't get to Madame Pomfrey, but you did, so I can probably make up with her by owl," Harry said. "I'd say we're done, unless you fancy a little butterbeer and hand-holding at the Three Broomsticks."

"No butterbeer, I've got an indigestion issue today," Daphne said.

"Home it is, then," Harry said. "Glass of mineral water, feet up, perhaps a foot rub…"

"Oh, yes, that's highly therapeutic," Daphne said, setting a new record for dryness in commentary.

Although she had carefully avoided advertising the fact that she could be found at home at #12 Grimmauld Place each Wednesday afternoon, word did circulate. Most Wednesdays saw two or three witches, sometimes more, both alone and in company, stopping by, usually dropping a card in the silver tray near the front door, and joining Daphne in her study for some tea and conversation.

Thus, Harry was not surprised to see witches in the front hall when he entered #12 the next Wednesday afternoon. What surprised him was the fact that the witches were Millicent Bulstrode and Ginny Weasley. Daphne was right behind, walking them to the front door, smiling her best, most dazzling Daphne smile.

"Harry!" said Ginny and Millicent at once. They grabbed him in turn, hugging and giving him a kiss on the cheek. Ginny was last. She stepped back and shook her index finger in front of Harry's face.

"Sunday," she said. "The Burrow. Noon. Bring Teddy. Don't miss it. Daphne has the details."

With that, Millicent and Ginny stepped out onto the landing and disapparated with two 'POPS.'

"They both seemed so much more, responsible, somehow," said Harry.

Daphne laughed, the first time Harry remembered her laughing in weeks.

"They're a bit giddy at the moment," Daphne said. "Want some tea? Kreacher, another pot of tea for the study please, and another cup."

Kreacher had a pot in the study before Harry and Daphne had sat down.

"Thanks, Kreacher," Harry said, and the elf walked out of Daphne's study, closing the door behind him.

"You're feeling better," Harry said.

"I haven't been feeling bad," said Daphne. "It's normal. Don't you want to know what that was all about?"

"As in, 'Daphne has the details?'" Harry speculated. "Of course."

"Millicent and Ginny are officially a couple," Daphne said.

"I thought they were a couple ever since the St. Mungo's Ball," Harry replied. He picked up the teapot and poured a cup. "Where's yours?"

"None for me, please, and I advise you to listen," Daphne said. "Ginny and Millicent are _officially_ a couple, as opposed to dating. As told to me, they went for a run together, and were running along talking, and Millicent broached the idea of sharing a flat, and Ginny said she wouldn't unless Millicent thought they had a real future together. Millicent mulled it over, and they got back to the residential hotel where Ginny has been keeping a little studio, and Millicent asked."

"Asked?" said Harry.

"Asked! Harry! Millicent asked Ginny to marry her. Apparently, she said, and this is a quote: 'Ginny, I love you, this has gone on long enough. I want you to be my wife. Marry me.' They're getting married!

"Now, there's more. You know Ginny, you'll appreciate this. Ginny told Millicent they needed to clarify something, then Ginny took both of Millicent's hands and asked Millicent to be _her_ wife, just so there wouldn't be any misunderstandings.

"Ginny had already decided to retire from quidditch at the end of this season. Only the GM knows, and now you and me. Ginny asked me to swear you to secrecy because she is trying to avoid a long, drawn-out series of farewells and ceremonies as the season winds down. She had a very good year, not her highest-scoring season, but her overall game is as good as ever, and she wants to go out on top. She's got a standing offer from the Daily Prophet to cover quidditch for the sports page."

Harry mulled what Daphne had just told him.

"Logical enough," Harry said. "Ginny wouldn't mind being a wife as long as she had one of her own. Is that the reason for Sunday? A little family engagement party?"

"No," Daphne said. "Not quite. Ginny said Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are going to be informed at dinner on Sunday. She is not sure everyone will be happy. I guess there's an Aunt Muriel, who expresses opinions?"

"Oh, yes, there certainly is," Harry nodded.

"Ginny said, and I was really touched by this, Harry, that we are their first supporters, and they know they can count on us," said Daphne, "And they know everything will be fine if we are there with them."

Harry sat still, then took a drink from his tea cup.

"Then, I guess we'd better plan on going. I'm surprised we haven't been to the Burrow already, but it seemed like we always had a conflict, or were doing something at The Mill. I'll have to owl Andromeda to make sure Teddy's available," Harry said. "This has really cheered you up, hasn't it? You haven't stopped smiling since I got here. I'm very happy you're feeling better."

"Well, yes, among other things," Daphne said. "I didn't have the nausea this morning, so I hope I'm over that."

"What did you decide it was? Something magical?" Harry asked.

"Yes, it is magical. It's old, very old, goes back to the beginning of humanity, back before that, really. Normally, the condition has to gestate for awhile before it can be diagnosed. It's now been confirmed. I didn't want to say anything about it until I knew for sure," said Daphne.

"Am I being really thick about something?" Harry asked, genuinely puzzled by Daphne's medical jargon.

"Yes, you are, and you're obtuse and how you solve crimes is utterly beyond me, so here it is: You're going to be a father, Harry. I'm pregnant. I think since that evening we finished setting up the bedroom at The Mill and then went ahead and spent the night there. The timing would have been just right for where I am now."

"Oh, Daphne, that's…great! Congratulations! Oh, that's wrong, isn't it? They're sure? Whoo! That is…How are you? How do you feel? Can I get you anything? What will you do about work?" Harry thought all of his questions were original. After all, he hadn't had occasion to ask them before.

Daphne started to laugh, a real, heartfelt, genuine laugh, the Daphne laugh that lit up Harry's heart like sunshine.

"We get to all of that, in time. This is just the beginning. I don't even have a baby bump yet. Are you happy you're going to have a little Potter running around?" Daphne asked.

"Of course!" Harry exclaimed. "Now we have to get serious about wedding plans, don't we? Glad I had the foresight to ask you to marry me. Do we have any free days in July?"

Harry's observation brought more laughter from Daphne.

"As it happens, we do! The seventh and seventeenth, remember? Mother and her runes," said Daphne.

"Who else knows?" Harry asked.

"No one, you're the first person I've told," Daphne said. "Well, there's my colleague who saw me this morning, but she's obliged to keep it all to herself. In effect, no one in the whole world knows, but you and me."

"Do you want to take the floo to the manor?" Harry suggested. "If that is permitted. Gosh, I don't even know if pregnant witches can take the floo, or apparate. Where do you go to find this stuff out?"

"Oh, you could do a number of things, ask a healer, for instance…" Daphne speculated.

"Yes. All right. Dr. Greengrass, would you like to visit your parents at their home, and give them the good news, if that is allowed?" said a chastened Harry.

"Nah, we can wait until the weekend," Daphne said. "There's no rush, and Mother and Father both are up to their chins in wedding preparation. No need to give them more to process."

The conversation was interrupted by the sound of an owl pecking on glass. Harry waved his wand to open the window, and the owl flew to a perch that sat on Daphne's desk. The note was on a little roll of parchment tied to the owl's leg. Daphne slipped the note out and rewarded the owl with a piece of jerky from the jar on the desk. She read the note, smiled, and handed it to Harry.

"Runes say girl, but they're less accurate the closer the caster is to the subject," read the note.

"Mrs. Greengrass?" asked Harry.

"Definitely, that's her handwriting," Daphne said.

"Well, wouldn't that be something?" Harry said. "A little girl. Girls never do anything wrong, so, no disciplinary problems! No fighting, no conspiring with cronies. Plus, we get to pick out girl names. What do you like?"

"Now that is getting ahead of yourself, Head Auror," Daphne said.

"You know who I've been thinking about lately? Iolanthe Peverell, who brought The Mill with her when she married Hardwin Potter," said Harry. "Do you like Iolanthe? I need to see if I can do a little research and find out more about her."

"I like it fine, Harry, but it's too early to tell," Daphne said. "Don't go getting so invested you'll be whiplashed if we learn it's a boy."

Harry hadn't yet closed the window when a second owl flew in and joined the first, who sat on the perch, pulling shreds of jerky from the piece he'd been given.

Harry pulled the little roll of parchment from the thread on the owl's leg and read it.

"Runes say girl, congratulations!" said the note. It was signed, "H."

"Hermione," Harry said, handing over the note.

Daphne read the note and handed it back.

"Iolanthe would be very nice," Daphne said. "Iolanthe Potter."

"Welcome to the family, Iolanthe," said Harry.


	2. Chapter 2

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Two

How Iolanthe Astoria Potter Got Her Name

As it turned out, Daphne and Harry did go to Greengrass Manor later in the afternoon. Using the floo network did not, after all, appear on the list of proscribed things for expectant witches. Healer Daphne didn't even have to look that up, nor contact her own healer for permission. Harry, reflecting, recognized he and Daphne had just found another subject area where he knew nothing, and would have to follow her lead and try to learn something new now and then.

Daphne called Kreacher to the study and informed him they were going out, thanked him for the tea, and told him he could take the evening off if he had personal business elsewhere.

Kreacher seemed pleased by the consideration Daphne showed him, and responded with an elfin, "Thank you, Mistress Daphne," before backing out of the study, bowing.

"You've been promoted," said Harry, who had only heard Walburga Black's portrait addressed as 'Mistress' before.

"I didn't ask him to, it just showed up," Daphne said. "Do you have to do anything before we go?"

"Not really," Harry said. "Different jacket."

Harry swapped jackets and two minutes later they arrived, with a 'WHOOSH,' in the library fireplace at Greengrass Manor. No one was in the library, and Raffles didn't greet them in the hall. Daphne led the way through the house toward the gardens, eventually finding Fabio and Kendra in the gazebo. They'd been picking at a large tray that amounted to a small buffet. The main dish was cold roast chicken, which could be piled on a variety of Mad Monk bread that was a particular specialty of the Greengrass Manor elves, accompanied by cold potato salad, raw carrots, celery, cherry tomatoes, and a large pitcher of what appeared to be a vegetable juice blend.

"Daphne!" said Kendra, smiling a very pleased-looking smile. "At last!"

Daphne stopped by her mother, leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. She gave a head motion toward Fabio and made a little questioning look.

"Of course not," Kendra said, as if the question were too absurd to entertain.

"Father," said Daphne, leaning down and wrapping her arms around Fabio, "Do you think the sound of 'Grandfather Greengrass' has too much alliteration? Because there are plenty of alternatives, if you do."

Fabio considered the question, and seemed to be on the verge of answering Daphne's hypothetical, when the meaning of it dawned on him. He looked at Harry, who looked back, nodding slowly, a very pleased smile on _his_ face.

"Oh, Daphne, did I hear right?" Fabio asked. "You're going to make us grandparents?"

"Yes we are," Daphne said. "It was official about eleven this morning. And, I understand Mother has a second opinion to offer?"

Kendra blushed.

"Daphne, I didn't mean to pry, now, so don't take offense. I was just doing some practice casting and the runes volunteered it," Kendra said. "Once they showed me that, it wasn't something I could keep to myself."

Daphne started to laugh.

"Did you just happen on the question, or have I obviously been in the initial stages of something like, oh, pregnancy, for example?" she asked.

"Oh, Daphne, there really isn't anything that looks quite like it, to a seasoned observer, is there? If you think about it?" asked Kendra.

"Don't feel bad," Daphne said. "Your deputy's owl was only a minute or two behind yours. She confirmed. Father, the two best rune-witches in Britain say you're going to be getting a little granddaughter in December."

Fabio was smiling and chuckling and touching the corners of his eyes with the knuckle of his index finger, all at once.

"Well, that is just…" he began, neglecting to finish.

"Sit down, sit down," Kendra began. "Where are our manners? Dig in, we're picnicking tonight. If you don't want the vegetable juice the elves can bring you whatever you want."

The meal went on, with lots of actual questions about how Daphne was feeling, mixed with oddballs like how did Harry feel when Daphne told him?

"We are looking at a couple of days in July," Harry said, when someone asked about wedding plans. "Things should have calmed down after Astoria and Draco, and they're already blocked out on our calendars."

"That was me, Harry," Kendra said. "The runes came up with propitious dates. They didn't seem to see a need to say why, or what they were propitious for. Then you and Daphne figured that out for yourselves."

"That works," Harry said. "Very magical, the way it should be. They gave us the seventh and the seventeenth. Anyone have a preference?"

This resulted in Daphne pulling out her personal magical organizer, and Kendra going to the library to fetch hers, followed by a long session of comparing, handwriting entries, removing the entries with the wave of a wand, discussions of who would be available to participate, who they knew who would be out of the country, and on and on.

Harry finished his sandwich, then joined Fabio in taking a few tablespoons of fruit from the large bowl, then a few more, and finally giving in and just spearing pieces of melon and papaya from the bottom of the bowl with his fork.

"Well, why don't we stick with the seventh, then, dear?" Kendra finally said. "Your father will have the garden back, you and Harry don't have conflicts. If you want Tracey to be your maid of honor you'd better let her know, tonight. She might have to reschedule something of her own."

Daphne thought that was a good idea and departed for the library to use the fireplace.

"Whatever, Harry?" Kendra said.

"I know," Harry said. He felt bubbly laughter coming up all the way from his diaphragm. "All I can say is, The Mill. We'd gotten engaged out there, and the day we got the bedroom complete, it was late, and we decided to spend the night, and next thing you know, here we are. At least, that's what Daphne thinks, and she's the pro. Isn't it fantastic? I haven't had a family since…"

At that point, Harry stopped, his eyes welled up, he took off his glasses and dabbed with his napkin.

"Ooooh…sorry," he said when he'd composed himself.

Daphne walked back into the gazebo, followed by Tracey, who was wearing magenta silk pajamas, fuzzy magenta mules, and a full-length summer weight linen traveling cloak in a light gray color, with a magenta velvet Chesterfield collar. Even for a witch, her wardrobe choices made a statement, but Tracey had the presence and personality to make it seem perfectly normal, as if simply _everyone_ had a linen traveling cloak with a Chesterfield collar that spring, and those who didn't simply must not care about _counting for something_ in this world.

Tracey made the rounds, kissing first Kendra, then hugging Fabio, then hugging, kissing, and hugging Harry again. Tracey tossed her cloak at the chaise, missed, and sat down next to Daphne. Trix popped into the gazebo, picked up the cloak and gave it a shake, then carefully folded it before putting it down on the chaise.

Trix hadn't yet asked Tracey what she wanted to drink before Tracey said, "Just a glass for some of that excellent vegetable juice, Trix. How are you tonight?"

Unlike many witches and wizards, Tracey loved house elves. She found them fascinating. They didn't look like much, in human terms, but their magic was so strong when applied to household tasks, or cooking, or gardening. She was genuinely interested in the elves, studied them all the time, and paid attention to their lives outside their households. She generally knew when an elf was seeking a position, having been dismissed, or had outlived his or her most recent mistress or master. Tracey had brokered a number of successful matches of that type, carefully considering both elvish specialties and household needs, looking for the perfect balance.

Trix loved Tracey, all within the bounds of propriety, of course. It wouldn't do to neglect her own family in favor of a visitor, even if the visitor was Tracey, who was practically a member of household at the Greengrass'.

"So, you're getting married," she said to Daphne, taking her hand.

"And, Tracey, you might as well know, we're expecting a baby, as of this morning," Daphne replied.

"Oooh, Daphne," Tracey said. "I knew you'd been busy, but THAT is BUSY!"

"Yes, well, that's one way to put it," Daphne said. "We didn't plan it, we didn't ask for it, but we've been given a gift, and Merlin knows, we aren't teenagers and we aren't getting any younger, so we might as well get started."

"I'm going to give your fiance' another kiss, I think," Tracey said.

"That sounds calculated and rehearsed, but, okay," said Daphne, and Tracey kissed Harry again.

"Thank-you, Harry, I love having cousins, the more the better," Tracey said before letting him go.

"My pleasure," Harry said without thinking.

This brought on a "Hey-y-y!" from Fabio and guffaws from the ladies.

Daphne asked Tracey about her plans for the first week in July, and if she wanted to be her maid of honor.

Tracey said she could cancel anything she had going, short of the End of The World, to be Daphne's maid of honor. Daphne had kind of thought that to be the case, but it was good to know for sure.

Astoria never did make an appearance, but neither Kendra nor Daphne seemed concerned, so Harry assumed she was off somewhere with Draco. Tracey, Daphne and Kendra spent a little more time with the magical planners, but that wasn't exciting enough to keep everyone up late. Tracey had her own room upstairs, so when Harry and Daphne called it a night and went up, Tracey slipped into her mules and came along.

Harry got to the sunny room next to the patio before everyone else in the morning, but the early morning light and pleasant temperature were quite compelling, and he kept right on going outside. Trix offered breakfast, but Harry decided to wait until the others had come down to eat, asking for coffee and a glass of water instead. He sat on the patio, enjoying the silence and the air filled with the scent of Fabio's flowering shrubs.

Astoria and Daphne arrived, eventually, saw Harry outside, and joined him on the patio. Astoria took a moment to greet Harry with an extended hug and a kiss to his cheek.

"So," she said, still wrapping Harry up in a bear hug, "Daphne says you bring news, of a date for a wedding, and a little niece for me to spoil. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I plead guilty?" said Harry, turning it into a question.

"Rogue wizard," Astoria said, giving Harry another little kiss on the cheek, before pulling away. "I was so looking forward to an extended interrogation."

Daphne asked Trix for a glass of fruit or vegetable juice, whichever was ready, and some fresh fruit. Astoria sat with her contemplative look, which Harry theorized was the precursor to Astoria's morning brain thaw, when once again it would become functional enough to choose between scrambled and poached eggs.

By the time Astoria started her poached eggs and toasted muffin, Tracey had arrived, outfitted in a clean, pressed pair of emerald green silk pajamas and matching mules.

"So, what's on the program this morning?" Tracey asked.

"Work," Harry said, "But there's no rush. They'd have owled me by now."

"Rounds," Daphne added. "I should be at St. Mungo's by nine."

"Tracey, have you seen Harry's mill?" Astoria asked.

"I didn't know Harry even _had_ a mill, much less gone to see it," Tracey answered. "What kind of mill do you have, Harry? Powder, pepper, steel?"

Harry nearly choked on the coffee he'd been swallowing when Tracey asked her question. Recovering, he took his time answering, to make sure he wouldn't compound the problem.

"None of the above," he said. "It's an old gristmill, converted to a cottage. We could pop over and see it if you want. I have time. Daphne?"

"Sure, as long as we don't dither," Daphne said.

"Astoria?" Harry asked.

"I'm in," said Astoria.

Everyone took a last drink of juice or mineral water, and a last bite of whatever they were eating, and headed for the library. The floo system address was simply 'The Mill' and the party walked out of the large fireplace at The Mill moments later.

Harry waved his wand at the front door, opening it, and letting in daylight and fresh air. Astoria walked around making comments about the additional changes Harry and Daphne had made since her last visit. Daphne took Tracy to look at the bedroom and the upstairs.

Harry reached into a jar that sat on the mantle before he and Astoria made their way outside and continued to the mill pond to check on the trout.

The trout had not been used to seeing people prior to Harry taking an interest in the property and had been habituated to lurking in the shadows except for bursts to the surface to gobble up insects that let themselves fly too close. Harry and Daphne started bringing fish food for the trout and it wasn't long before a human silhouette against the sky brought the trout to the surface, circling and poking their heads out of the water in anticipation of a meal.

Harry offered his handful of dried crickets to Astoria, who looked back with curiosity, mixed with disdain.

"It's okay, toss one in and watch," Harry said.

With her nose performing an involuntary crinkle, Astoria took a cricket between her thumb and forefinger and tossed it underhand toward the pond. A large trout rose out of the water, caught the cricket in its mouth, and returned with a satisfying splash. Astoria thought that was just about the coolest thing she'd ever seen, at least since getting up that morning, and reached for another cricket. Trout began getting scored on the beauty of their leap and the loudness of their returning splash.

"We are going to have to get back," Daphne said. "Rounds."

"We're out of crickets," Harry responded. "What did you think, Tracey."

"It exceeds expectations, that's for sure," Tracey said. "I was anticipating old sacks and rat nests. You've got a great little country place here, assuming you like that kind of thing."

Harry noticed little points of light rising from among the plants around the base of The Mill.

"One more thing," he said. "Hello to all the fairies. We hope all is well."

The fairies drifted together into their usual ball of tiny lights, except for the ones that began making crowns for Daphne, Tracey and Astoria.

"Hello, Harry. Hello, Astoria. Hello, Daphne. The fairies are fine," said the voice from the ball of lights.

"We would like to introduce Tracey to the fairies. Tracey has come to visit The Mill and we would like the fairies to look out for her when she is here," Harry said.

"Hello, Tracey," said the fairies.

"Hello," Tracey said to the ball of lights, perhaps a little reluctantly.

Harry was about to thank the fairies and go back inside to the fireplace when he noticed lights gathering around Daphne, forming a smaller ball at her waist.

"Oh," Harry said. "I think they have noticed…"

Daphne stood still, letting the fairies congregate in front of her.

"The fairies say hello," said the voice. "What is this one's name?"

Harry was pondering how to explain to the fairies that they had yet to formally choose a name, for the baby that would not arrive until December, in a way that would make sense to beings that live outside time, with no reference to past, present or future, when Daphne spoke up.

"Her name is Iolanthe. Iolanthe Astoria Potter," said Daphne. "She is visiting the mill, and the fairies. Will the fairies look after Iolanthe at the mill?"

Harry was surprised to learn Iolanthe's middle name was Astoria, but Daphne spoke so assuredly he accepted her statement as settled fact. Astoria burst into a smile and tried to suppress a fit of giggles, which only made them more obvious. Tracey was affected, too, but less demonstrative about it.

"Iolanthe is the owner of The Mill," said the voice from the fairies. "Iolanthe is sitting on the bench near the door."

The fairies were getting at something, that much was obvious, but the difficulties of translating the fairies' meaning when humans could not use tenses were profound. Harry recalled Fabio's remark to the effect that offending the fairies was to be avoided. Daphne was trying to parse the fairies' meaning at the same time. They spoke of Iolanthe, presumably Iolanthe Peverell Potter, who had brought The Mill into the Potters' landholdings by marriage. Iolanthe, the owner of The Mill, was sitting on the bench. Daphne deduced that the fairies, seeing Iolanthe sitting on the bench, outside of time, were suggesting Daphne take Iolanthe Astoria to sit with Iolanthe Peverell on the bench.

The fairies buzzed more and more excitedly as Daphne walked closer to the bench. She sat down and beckoned to Harry to join her. Harry walked over and sat down. The fairies formed their ball of tiny lights, all of them, except the ones making crowns for Daphne, Astoria and Tracey. Harry and Daphne sat quietly, hands touching on the bench between them, as the fairies drifted around near Iolanthe, who as yet wasn't big enough to make a bump. Harry kept an eye on Daphne, although he tried not to be too obvious in his observations. He didn't understand fairies very well, and these had always been harmless when they'd visited, but still, babies…

"What do you think? Do you feel anything?" he spoke quietly, just for Daphne.

"It's fine," Daphne said, "Really, just fine. It feels warm, like a blessing. Like the feeling, when you're conscious of being loved. I think we have to wait until the fairies are done with us, Harry, work or no work. This doesn't happen very often. Don't ask me how I know that."

Astoria and Tracey waited patiently, watching their crowns of circling fairies. At some point, Harry wasn't sure exactly how much later, the fairies began drifting back away from the bench, forming a ball some distance off in front of The Mill.

"Iolanthe Astoria is at The Mill," said the voice that spoke for the fairies.

That was that. The fairies left their ball and flew off as individual points of light, some back to the ground and the patches of wildflowers, some up into trees, some to the flowering shrubs that grew under the trees or around the mill pond. Daphne stood up.

"Done," she said.

"How do you know?" Harry asked.

"Just do," answered Daphne. "Ladies, we'll have to go. You're welcome to stay, if you're having too much fun."

"I'll go with you," Tracey said. "Things to do today."

"Same," said Astoria. "You didn't tell me you were going to give her my name."

"Is it alright?" Daphne asked. "The fairies kind of took me by surprise, and it just sounded like exactly the thing I should say."

"It's perfect," Harry said, before Astoria could answer. "It's a poem, in two words."

"Thank-you, Harry," the two said together, then started laughing at themselves.


	3. Chapter 3

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Three

The Burrow—It's Always Interesting

Harry made sure he sent an owl to Andromeda Tonks before he did anything else on Thursday, to get Teddy reserved for Sunday at the Burrow. There were always good reasons to go to Sunday dinner at the Burrow, Molly Weasley's incredible cooking first and foremost, but the Weasleys were always interesting, they had room for quidditch and several outstanding quidditch players in one family, and, for Teddy, some young Weasley cousins closer to his own age. Harry worried that Teddy, raised by his grandmother, with a good deal of participation from Harry, had been over-exposed to adults and under-exposed to young people. Teddy had obviously been overflowing with magic from a very young age, and it was no surprise when the owl arrived with his Hogwarts acceptance letter.

Teddy would be starting at Hogwarts the first week in September. Harry had discussed Hogwarts with Teddy, trying to prepare him for the initial experiences of the first few days. Harry had arrived with no preparation, and was swept along through the sorting into houses along with everyone else, without knowledge of why the hat sent students to one or the other. He had no experience, beyond attending his muggle primary school, of living and working with other children. His aunt and uncle considered him a burden and an embarrassment, and they kept him isolated when he wasn't actually present at school. Harry was determined to do what he could to get Teddy off to a more confident start at Hogwarts than he had.

Harry and Daphne discussed Iolanthe, and Teddy, and agreed it was best to tell Teddy they'd be getting a new member of the family later in the year. Harry was very concerned about Teddy feeling displaced, since Andromeda and Harry had been the extent of his family since Remus' and Tonks' deaths. Harry got the conversation started, and Daphne came in when he got out of his depth. Harry relaxed and listened as Daphne introduced an issue, then let Teddy take the lead, finishing up with encouragement before adjusting to a new topic.

On Sunday, Harry, Daphne and Teddy apparated to a spot just outside The Burrow's wards, and Harry led the way up the familiar path to the half-door to the kitchen. He was excited to be back again. After the final breakup with Ginny, he had seen Weasleys at various places and events. His and Ron's friendship continued as usual, presumably impervious to outside events, bolstered, undoubtedly, by Hermione's membership in the collective.

The Burrow, though, was different. Harry and Ginny stepped back from their relationship by mutual consent, but that didn't mean he wanted to chance either aggravating old wounds, or risk reactivating dormant affection, when they had both worked hard to preserve some dignity following their separation. Hence, he had carefully avoided going to the Burrow with Ron and Hermione, despite his affinity for Molly Weasley's Sunday dinners, in order to spare Ginny, and himself, from the unexpected, unpredictable, untoward reaction that he feared might lurk beneath the calm surface.

"Bill and Fleur," Harry said as they got closer.

"And Victoire," said Teddy.

Harry looked, and Teddy had put on a big smile.

"I didn't know you knew them," Harry said.

"Gran," Teddy said. "We met at Shell Cottage, last summer. Have you ever been to Shell Cottage?"

"Oh, yes," Harry said. "I have been to Shell Cottage."

Teddy was trying manfully to keep pace with Harry and Daphne, but Harry could see he was about to come unglued, so he said, "Go ahead and say hello."

Teddy started trotting away toward the Weasleys. Harry noticed Fleur say something to Victoire that he couldn't make out, but it must have been something along the lines of what Harry had told Teddy, as Victoire broke away from her parents and trotted out to meet Teddy. The two maintained a discreet distance, as was entirely appropriate for their ages, but their faces seemed to be saying they were genuinely glad to see one another once again.

"Harry," called Bill.

"'Arry!" said Fleur. "Bienvenue!"

"Bonjour, Fleur, comme ca?!" said Harry. "Bill—how is everyone?"

"Doing well, how are you? Teddy looks to be thriving," Bill said.

"Teddy is quite the specimen," Harry said. "As Victoire recognizes, it appears. Have you met Daphne?"

"Yes, at some point," Bill said, extending his hand. "Not sure just when."

"Me neither," Daphne said, "So don't feel bad."

Daphne and Fleur had met during the Triwizard Tournament, at Hogwarts, and had been friends ever since. They performed an elaborate dance of sorts, bumping cheeks right and left, embracing, stepping back, trading compliments in French and English, then linking arms and heading for the house.

"Who's here?" Harry asked Bill.

"Charlie, George and me, Fleur, Victoire, Dominique, Mum and Dad, and now you, Teddy and Daphne. Percy, Audrey, Angelina, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Millicent are expected any time now," Bill said. "There's Charlie, by the shed."

Harry and Bill Weasley continued to the house, where Harry was greeted by Mrs. Weasley as a prodigal, now returned. Mrs. Weasley was orchestrating Sunday dinner preparation via her own personal routine of doing things by hand, or by magic, or by conscripting whomever was closest to peel, mash, insert in the oven, remove from the stovetop, or some combination.

"Tea?" Bill offered.

"Glass of water, for me, please," said Daphne.

"Tea," said Harry. "Thanks."

Bill came back with the beverages, then addressed Harry.

"Harry, before things get really chaotic, do you want to talk about your property?" asked Bill. "I'd like you to be there, and next week will be very slow for me."

Harry and Bill wandered off, talking about Potter Manor, The Mill, and the other parcels that made up the estate.

Teddy and Victoire sat in wooden chairs between the house and Arthur Weasley's shed. Victoire had pulled some straw strands from her pocket, and braided a cord from the material as she chatted Teddy up.

"If there is a club for vampires at Hogwarts, will you join?" she asked, looking down at her braiding.

"I doubt it, why would I?" Teddy responded.

"Well, since you and I are vampires, I thought if you joined, I could join, too, when I start at Hogwarts, and we could be in the club together," Victoire said.

"We aren't vampires, Victoire," Teddy said. "My father was a werewolf, and your father was attacked by a werewolf, but he didn't become a werewolf, like mine did. There's a difference."

Victoire considered Teddy's explanation, braiding away.

"Which is better, a werewolf, or a vampire?" Victoire asked.

"Neither are really very convenient," Teddy said. "But if I had to choose one or the other, I'd choose werewolf because other than staying out of the full moon, you can live a normal life. There is no such thing as a normal life for a vampire. Why are you interested? You haven't been…"

Victoire stopped braiding, and sat very still, subjecting Teddy to an extended visual appraisal. Teddy wanted to look away, but he managed, just, to hold Victoire's gaze.

"No," she said at last.

"Sorry. I did find this," said Teddy, reaching into his pocket, and pulling out what looked like a triangle-shaped stone, about three-fourths of an inch long.

"I have been carrying it around with me but I don't really know what to do with it. I think it's a fossil tooth. It's probably a wolf's tooth, since we both ought to have good luck finding things related to wolves," Teddy said. He knew he was on shaky ground, speculating he and Victoire ought to have such an affinity, something for which he had not a scrap of evidence. Victoire didn't seem to mind, though, and stopped braiding to look at Teddy's artifact.

"Let's see it," she said, holding out a hand.

Teddy handed the tooth over.

"Well, it is certainly _shaped_ like a tooth, isn't it?" asked Victoire. "Do you want it back? I think I can braid it into this."

"I'd like to see that," said Teddy. "Go ahead and see if you can."

Teddy noticed a small, white, bead-like object at one end of the braided strand.

"What's that?" he asked.

"One of my teeth," said Victoire. "I lost it two years ago and it was in a box with the other ones I lost. I took it to Uncle George's store and he drilled a hole in it for me."

She held out the braided cord so Teddy could see the tooth at close range, then returned to working the putative wolf tooth into her braiding.

People continued to arrive, culminating with Ginny and Millicent, the last ones to come walking in from the apparation point.

Bill and Harry had wandered over near the shed and were talking to Charlie, who was inspecting some brooms he'd brought out.

"This is a Firebolt," he said. "That's quite an improvement over the usual Weasley equipment, at least the ones we started on, wouldn't you say, Bill?"

Harry took a look. "That's one of Ginny's."

Harry went in the shed, coming back out with another Firebolt.

"I knew I'd left one here, then I forgot about it," he said. "We'll have to take them up later."

"We've got time," Charlie said, "If you want. Ten minutes, or so?"

Without thinking, Harry swung his leg over his broomstick, followed by Charlie, and they both kicked off and were airborne. Harry and Charlie were two of the most honored Gryffindor seekers ever to play quidditch at Hogwarts. People who had seen Charlie play continued to say he could have been on any England squad of his era, had he not become obsessed with dragons and gone off to Romania to work on a preserve. Harry and Charlie put the Firebolts through their paces.

"Got anything to use for a snitch?" Harry asked, as they circled higher and higher.

"This one was in the shed," Charlie answered, producing an actual snitch from his shirt pocket.

Harry stopped climbing and sat on his broom, facing Charlie.

"Let it go," Harry said, and Charlie tossed the snitch up in the air. Harry waited to see what it would do. Once caught, snitches didn't go evasive again, but they had the ability to fly, sometimes very fast. This one was quite civilized, flying around without making a big deal about not getting caught. Harry reached out and caught the snitch, then gave it a toss in Charlie's direction.

Harry and Charlie sat on their brooms, sometimes holding on with one hand, sometimes not holding on at all, throwing and catching the snitch, not paying attention as they circled higher and higher, catching up on what had been going on since they had last seen one another, telling quidditch stories, and generally getting the kinks out. They were both riding their brooms in a sidesaddle position, legs crossed, demonstrating flying situations with their hands, as aviators do, when Ginny flew into their field of vision.

"You are a couple of thousand feet in the air and causing stress to an expectant mother," Ginny announced.

"What? Us? Why?" Harry asked.

"Hi, Ginny, is it time to eat?" Charlie added.

Ginny ignored Charlie, directing her comments to Harry.

"Daphne is threatening to equip George with a club and send him up after you, and George, being George, is quite eager to climb on a broom and do it," Ginny replied, disregarding Charlie's impertinence.

"Well," Harry said.

"I suppose," Charlie agreed. "Although, just for the record, George? Seriously?" which got a good laugh out of Harry.

Each threw a leg back over his broom. Harry rolled hard to his right and descended upside down, 'Whoo-hoo'ing all the way. Charlie pulled his broom up into a stall, flipped over backwards into a nose down attitude and headed straight toward the ground. Harry spiraled down, finally rolling back upright at someplace around one hundred feet aloft. Charlie had been waiting, and the two descended the final distance at a stately pace, landing gently together on their feet.

"Harry can really fly," Charlie said to Daphne. "I knew he was good, but…"

"He was okay, I guess," Daphne allowed, refusing to concede anything more. "He may be a little less sharp, now that he is thinking about having REAL RESPONSIBILITIES for a change."

"Oh, I just…" Harry began, or tried to, before Daphne cocked her head in a silent 'Oh?' at which Harry decided to cut his losses and closed his mouth.

Harry expected to be challenged some more but, not for the first time at the Burrow, was saved by dinner. Molly appeared in the kitchen door and announced it was ready, if anyone were hungry, or interested in eating. Harry came in with everyone else, saw that Fleur had taken Daphne in hand and appeared to be conducting her to one of the many bathrooms that kept the Burrow functioning when an abundance of Weasleys, Weasley in-laws, and Weasley grandchildren was fully in residence.

Everyone got seated, eventually. Harry sat between Daphne and Teddy and noticed that Teddy was wearing an accessory he hadn't seen before. It appeared to be cord woven from some fibrous straw, with a little white bead forming a closure, at the back of his neck, with a tiny loop in the opposite end of the cord. A small triangular stone was just visible in front, almost lost beneath Teddy's shirt.

Harry noticed Victoire, who'd managed to claim the seat on the other side of Teddy, noticing him taking note of Teddy's new item. She blushed and turned her head. Harry felt a solid bump on his ankle, on the side near Daphne, and turned his head a bit her way. Daphne, though, was focused on something under discussion with Millicent, her Slytherin classmate, who sat opposite, next to Ginny.

Then the food started circulating and all other considerations were lost in the fog of a fully-fledged Molly Weasley Sunday dinner. Word got to Arthur Weasley about Daphne and Harry's engagement, and a toast was proposed. Then, Ginny took the floor and announced she was swearing everyone to an oath of confidentiality until the news embargo was lifted, and told her family she was retiring from quidditch at the end of the season.

Molly Weasley shrieked and got up from her chair to go to Ginny for a hug.

"I haven't been to a game for two years, I can't stand to watch you play anymore," she said. "I didn't want to say anything as long as you were playing. I didn't know what to do. I was so afraid you'd get hurt before you came to your senses!"

Ginny made comical faces at those across the table as Molly had both arms wrapped around Ginny's neck while she applied multiple kisses to the top of her head. Ginny's announcement brought a tableful of congratulations and best wishes for equivalent success in the next stage of her life. Millicent beamed and squeezed Ginny's hand.

"And…" Ginny continued, "Millicent has asked me to marry her, and I said yes."

This was followed by a long silence, while Ginny's announcement sank in. Finally, George spoke up.

"But Ginny," George said, "She's a…a… _Slytherin_."

Tension broken, the 'Hear-hear' and 'Congratulations' choruses began, drowning out attempts at reasonable conversation. Molly was clearly taken by surprise, but she didn't faint or run from the room screaming.

Arthur raised his glass again.

"Welcome to the Weasleys, Millicent," he said. "Assuming, after today, you still want…"

Then several more voices repeated the welcome, then someone toasted 'Ginny and Millicent,' and the process repeated.

Daphne hadn't planned on making any announcements, not wanting to step on Ginny and Millicent's big news, but Audrey Weasley turned to Harry and said, "I just now heard about you and Daphne getting engaged, and you've got a date for the wedding! How did that get by me?"

"Don't know," Harry said. "Daphne's parents sent something to the Daily Prophet. We've been too busy to plan an engagement party."

"And, the word is circulating, but for anyone who hasn't already heard," Daphne said, "Harry and I are expecting, in December, and according to Hermione's runes…" at which Daphne looked over at Hermione and Ron.

"It's a girl," said Hermione.

"You're going to have a little sister, Teddy," Harry heard Victoire say.

"I know," Teddy said. "Harry and Daphne told me last week. They're going to name her Iolanthe Astoria, for Iolanthe Peverell, who was an ancient relative of Harry's, and Astoria, Daphne's sister."

"Well, those are certainly lovely names," Victoire said, looking around Teddy and Harry to address Daphne.

"Thank-you, Victoire," Daphne said, in her low, honey-like voice. "We'll make sure she gets around and meets everyone, just as soon as she gets here."

Molly had made profiterole for dessert, and she soon had three big bowls on the table, along with gravy boats of chocolate syrup. Daphne exercised some discipline and took a very small portion, skipping the chocolate altogether. Harry succumbed to the seduction of flaky pastry, creamy center, and chocolate on top and dripping down the sides, although not in a hoggish manner, at least on the first serving.

Harry saw Fleur pouring a little more of the chocolate over Ron's profiterole, gently chiding him for letting the flavor of the profiterole sit idle, unlocked in the creamy interior, because the chocolate syrup 'c'est necessaire' to bring the taste to full bloom. Harry noticed Ron's eyes going Helpless Puppy as Hermione's were quickly becoming Unspeakable Death Stare, but he couldn't think of how to address the looming disaster.

Just then Daphne spoke up.

"Fleur, where is Gabrielle today?"

Fleur put the gravy boat of chocolate down on its plate to turn to Daphne.

"Gabrielle is in France," said Fleur, "and she will be so-o-o jealous when she learns we 'ave 'ad Sunday dinner with 'Arry. Fleur does not forget who released her from under the Great Lake," this last delivered with a dazzling smile sent Harry's way.

Harry couldn't recall discussing with Daphne his seeming immunity to veela wiles, but resolved to do so at the first opportunity, just to avoid any potential misunderstandings. Meanwhile, Hermione had picked up the gravy boat of syrup and anointed Ron's profiterole with some more chocolate, demanded he taste it, and to please advise her if he thought it needed more.

Molly's Sunday dinner continued apace. When enough people put down their silverware and coffee cups and drifted away, Molly began to clear the table. Harry always pitched in for cleanup at the Burrow. The Weasleys had never had a house elf, so Molly had made an art form of clearing and washing up. When Harry had been introduced to the Burrow, he was starving for a family life, and whenever possible worked in the kitchen just to be near his surrogate mother. His wand work got better and better, and he became quite skilled at complementing Molly's efforts while staying out of her way.

Molly and Harry had always used cleanup time to chat. Molly pumped Harry for news she didn't get from the Weasleys, a second opinion on the news she did get, gossip about Hogwarts contacts, then the unofficial Ministry news, the kind that was important but seldom made the Daily Prophet.

Molly looked around and didn't see anyone close at hand. Almost everyone had drifted out to the yard.

"Harry, now that you and Ginny have both…," Molly paused, obviously thinking through her next word choice. "…have both _found_ someone, I want you to give consideration to visiting us more often. You're as much Weasley as everyone else, or the same as. You didn't want to come after you and Ginny weren't…oh, after you _weren't_ anymore, which I understand, completely. But this is the first Sunday dinner in two years that has felt like our whole family is here."

"Mrs. Weasley, that is genuinely touching," Harry said as he rinsed a plate. "We won't be strangers. Iolanthe needs the nutrition."

"Oh, that's just grand, Harry. You've done enough here, get on outside and catch up on the gossip, I'll finish," said Molly.

She wouldn't look right at Harry, and he strongly suspected he knew why, and left her to her dishes. On the way out the door, Harry stood aside to let Ginny come in, followed closely by Millicent, who nodded and gave Harry's arm a squeeze as she passed. Harry closed both halves of the kitchen door on his way out.

Harry went out into the yard with everyone else and joined a little sub-group with Daphne. He didn't know how much more socializing Daphne would be interested in, but she was sitting with Fleur and Audrey, deep in conversation, so he walked on a few steps and joined Ron and Hermione.

"Congratulations, Harry," they both said, nearly in unison.

Harry was quietly amused by their unanimity, one of the few examples he'd witnessed.

"You know, I'm going to have to do some reflection on that," he said. "It seems like Daphne is going to do all the work, while I get congratulations. Somehow that doesn't seem quite right, does it?"

"No, it's not right," Hermione agreed, with some emphasis. "It's just the way it works."

"So, what's going on with the Granger-Weasleys?" Harry asked. "We haven't even been in the cafeteria at the same time."

"I signed up for a course in advanced wand lore with Ollivander," Ron said. "I'm learning a lot, AND I'm enjoying it. You know how rare that is for me."

Ron's comment earned a frown from Hermione, one of the premier magical scholars of her generation, and a heartfelt laugh from Harry, who shared Ron's complete dearth of distinction in matters requiring careful, sustained study.

"I'll expect a summary of the more major topics, whenever you have something to convey. Use your own judgement," Harry said.

Ron had left the aurors when Harry was promoted. Neville Longbottom had done the same. Neither thought their shared history with Harry in the Second Wizarding War boded well, for them, or for Harry, should they stay on. Ron had found a slot working as an investigator for the Wizengamot, which was completely separate and outside the jurisdiction of the aurors. Neville began teaching some of Madame Sprout's classes in Herbology at Hogwarts, at first on a part-time basis, filling the remainder of his time working with Hannah Abbott in the Leaky Cauldron.

Harry had been sneaking surreptitious looks through the kitchen window ever since he had come outside. Ginny and Millicent had initially joined Molly at the sink, but the dishes really had been all but finished when Molly sent Harry outside. They soon sat down at the table with the teapot and some cups and seemed to be doing nothing more than enjoying a cup of tea together, as ladies do.

"Mum?" Ginny, asked, after they'd gotten settled. "Are you fine with us? Millicent, and me?"

Molly looked between them.

"It isn't what I had in mind for you," she began. "But you already knew that. You asked the right question of the wrong person, Ginny. Are _you_ fine with you? Then you need to ask _Millicent_ is _she_ fine with you?"

"Yes, absolutely, Mum," Ginny said. "When we danced together at the St. Mungo's Ball, I knew. Every day since has just reinforced it. I was so afraid she wouldn't feel the same way."

"But I did," said Millicent. "I started crying when she told me how she felt about me."

She lifted the teapot and topped up Molly's cup.

"Then that's all that matters," Molly said, taking a sip before setting her teacup down. "I wanted lots of daughters, and I was so lucky to get one, on my last try. Now you've doubled my total."

Molly pulled Millicent toward her and gave her a long hug.

"Welcome to the Weasleys, dear," she said. "Now, Ginny, will you be using the Burrow, the marquee, the fiddlers and whatnot, same as the others? Let's go take a look and you can explain it all to Millicent."

The kitchen door opened and Ginny, Millicent and Molly walked out together.

"We put up a marquee on that flat spot over there," Molly said as she walked between Ginny and Millicent. "Bill and Fleur were the first ones to get married under it. What an experience! The Death Eaters did their coup at the ministry while the wedding was going on, then some of them showed up here, looking for Harry, and he and Ron and Hermione had to go on the run. It was a brawl, and Ginny was right in the middle of it. I know you're the DA professor, Millicent, but pay attention to your blocking, just in case…Arthur, can you come over here? I'm explaining where everything goes, so they can make a decision."

"Looks like that went well," Ron observed. "What is Millicent to the rest of us, after she's married to Ginny? Would she be a sister-in-law?"

"I'm pretty sure she'd appreciate you letting her decide that, Ronald," Hermione said. "As well as waiting patiently until either she or Ginny lets you know."

Daphne appeared at Harry's side and slipped her hand under his arm.

"About ready?" she asked. "The company's unbeatable," she assured Ron and Hermione, "but one mustn't overdo."

"Enjoy it," Hermione said. "Make the world dance to your tune for the next six months."

"Excellent guidance," Daphne said. "You'll get a citation whenever I use it in practice."

Harry and Daphne located Teddy sitting with Victoire and Dominique. Bill was nearby, talking to Charlie.

"Leaving?" Bill asked, extending his hand. "Tuesday morning, then?"

"Nine o'clock," Harry said. "Sure you know the way?"

"No problem," Bill said.

"Can you say good-bye for us? Your mother and father are occupied, for now," Daphne said. "Very nice to meet you, Charlie. Thanks for showing us all some really spectacular flying,"

"Of course. Come back again, soon," Bill said, as Daphne, Harry and Teddy started for the apparation point.


	4. Chapter 4

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Four

Astoria and Draco

Harry and Daphne stopped at Andromeda Tonks' on the way home, to return Teddy. Andromeda demanded Daphne sit down as soon as she arrived, convinced she needed to get off her feet and take a little break. A pitcher of mineral water, and a pot of tea, along with glasses and teacups, appeared immediately, and a house elf brought a plate of butter cookies and passed it around.

Andromeda was well-acquainted with the Weasleys, who had always treated her well after she fell out with the Blacks and the other pureblood partisans over her romance with Ted Tonks. Harry and Daphne filled her in on the latest Weasley-and-associated-persons-and-families news. Andromeda blinked a few times when they told her about Ginny and Millicent's announcement, but didn't say anything, positive or negative.

"Good for her," Andromeda said of Ginny's retirement news. "She's a Harpy for the ages, no question, so she should get out while she's healthy and go on to the next thing. Maybe we should have a little tea for them, just witches, what do you think, Daphne?"

"Let's talk about it. Winky and Kreacher would pitch in," Daphne said. "They're both mad for her."

Eventually, the tea and talk started to run out and Harry and Daphne said good-bye to Andromeda and Teddy. They'd had the foresight to actually plan where they'd be going after Andromeda's and seconds later appeared on the top step at #12 Grimmauld Place, just as Kreacher opened the front door.

"Welcome back, Mistress Daphne and Master Harry, how was your Sunday?" Kreacher asked.

"Wonderful," Harry said. "Thank-you for asking."

Daphne decided a short nap was in order, and headed upstairs. Harry considered a trip to his dojo, but changed his mind when it occurred to him Daphne would be trying to sleep just one room over. Instead, he walked to the back of the townhouse and out to the garden.

"Kreacher," he said, "Can you bring me something to put trash in? I need to clean up the garden."

The townhouse garden at the rear of #12 Grimmauld Place must have once been a jewel, Harry thought, as he removed accumulated trash and dead plants from the raised brick beds. With a little imagination, one could see flowering plants, succulents, bonsai and others in the mind's eye. The garden was in shade much of the day, so he'd have to plant with that in mind. He didn't think plant choice would be a problem. After all, he had two of the best magical gardeners in Britain, Fabio Greengrass and Neville Longbottom, in his immediate circle. Those two could probably garden on the moon, if they put their minds to it.

Harry gave himself up to the uprooting of dead plants and picking up the pieces of wastepaper that had drifted in over the years. While he worked, Harry was careful to avoid disturbing the young plants that were coming up among the stalks. He had no idea what they were, but was resolved to get some help with identification. He was vaguely aware there were annuals and perennials and some came up every year and others kept growing from year to year. Harry suspected at least some of the beds had been used for plants with magical significance. Those could be useful in the Potters' magical household, just as they had for the Blacks.

Harry got the dead stalks and trash bagged up and stood looking around for more basic maintenance chores.

"Dazzling!" said Daphne's voice from over Harry's shoulder.

"Not just yet, but I can see possibilities," Harry answered. "Once I've consulted with some knowledgeable gardeners. Have a good nap?"

"Perfect," Daphne said. "One hour, and I'm totally refreshed. Want to sit out for a little while? Kreacher?"

Kreacher apparated to the garden, appearing with a 'pop.'

"Kreacher is here, Mistress, what can Kreacher do for Mistress, and Master Harry?"

"A pitcher of lemonade, and two glasses, if you would, Kreacher," said Daphne.

"Of course, Mistress," Kreacher said, disappearing with a 'pop.'

Daphne and Harry sat down on two of the chairs pulled up around the patio table. Kreacher was back almost immediately with a pitcher of fresh lemonade and two large tumblers.

"Thank-you, Kreacher, that will be all," Daphne said.

The elf bowed and disapparated.

"You are so good at this," Harry said. "I really don't know how I lived without you."

"Potter," Daphne said, a little exasperation coming through in her tone, "You were living just fine and would have continued, but you didn't have a close relationship with anyone, and now that you are in a reciprocal, loving, respectful relationship you associate the positive feelings from that with success in doing daily tasks. The two don't have to have anything to do with one another, but you're happier in your personal life, and that makes you think you couldn't have ordered a pitcher of lemonade before."

Harry pondered Daphne's short guided tour through some elementary psychological jargon.

"I should have died from exposure, or starvation. I'm giving you full credit for my continued existence," he concluded.

"Fine," Daphne said, giving up while they both still possessed some shred of dignity.

"There is something we need to discuss, though," Daphne said. "I should have brought it up before, but I didn't know how to raise the issue. Iolanthe has put an end to my wobbliness."

"Iolanthe Astoria is ringing some changes," Harry said.

"Iolanthe Astoria will continue to do that, and more," Daphne said. "Now, what I should have brought up before. Someone in my Davis ancestry was cursed, generations ago. You may have noticed Astoria getting tired before everyone else, or needing more rest. That's the curse. It's a blood curse, stays in the family line, pops up every three or four generations. The curse has shown up in Astoria. She's perfectly normal except she's easily tired. She has to pay attention to diet, fresh air, exercise, and rest.

"Astoria is the reason I'm a healer. I spent years in the magical literature, countless hours with Madam Pomfrey, then started in on muggle medicine, trying to find a way to break the curse, or at least help her get stronger. Until someone makes a breakthrough, though, it looks like Astoria will have to live with it. That's what I should have told you before we got to this point. Iolanthe or one of her descendants could be next.

"I'm so, so sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to deceive you, but it feels like I have."

Daphne suddenly felt a need to turn her head away from Harry, who sat there, trying to digest what he'd just been told. It didn't feel to him like Daphne had deceived him. He had been face to face with problems much more challenging than a tendency to tire easily. Harry reached over and grasped Daphne's shoulder, trying to turn her back around, while she put some strength into keeping herself turned away.

"Daphne, stop this," Harry said. He gripped her shoulder a little harder.

"Daphne," he said, "Enough."

He tried to put some auror into his tone, hoping it would get Daphne's attention. Slowly, Daphne turned around, tears running from both eyes.

"Harry, you have every right…" she began.

"Please, listen to me," Harry said. He stood up and pulled his chair closer and sat back down, his knees touching Daphne's, and took both of her hands in his.

"You haven't deceived me. No one we know hasn't either been cursed, and survived, or had someone in their family tree cursed. Any witch or wizard who thinks otherwise is appallingly naïve. You know I've been cursed, and it doesn't bother you. Who knows what kind of residual effects are rattling around inside of me? What kind of man would I be if I let an old curse that has nothing to do with us push us apart? Do the best you can for Astoria. Don't worry about Iolanthe at this point. We'll face whatever comes, side by side. Hasn't that been working pretty well for us, up to now?" Harry finished.

"It has," Daphne said, "That's what I feared I'd ruined, by not telling you right from the start."

"Okay, now I know," Harry said, then, "And, according to the terms of the debate as stated by you, I am the authority on whether I've been deceived. Of all the things you have to think about at the moment, that is not one of them. Drink some lemonade. What should we plant back here? Do you know of any useful shade-loving herbs? She'll be toddling, one year from December. Toddler-safe, shade-loving herbs. I wonder if there is such a thing?"

Harry's speculations were cut off, along with his wind, by the arms Daphne threw around his neck. That was only temporary, though, and easily managed. She set him free just as another thought occurred to him.

"Has Astoria said anything about using The Mill? A couple of restful days after the wedding might be just what the healer ordered."

"Nothing definitive," Daphne said, drying the last of her tears. "It sounds like they'd both like to."

"I don't mean to meddle," Harry said. "We'll probably be too busy to use it anyway. With a wedding in the first week of July, and whatnot."

"Thanks for reminding me," said Daphne, the sarcasm mostly under control.

"Where are you so far?" Harry asked. "I know you've been doing some preliminary…"

"Oh, you do, do you?" Daphne asked, clearly amused by Harry's presumptuous claim to insider knowledge. "How?"

"Observation. The planners that seem to be in evidence whenever you and Mrs. Greengrass are in the same place. An increased incidence of Tracey sightings. That sort of thing. I'd go further, strictly on speculation, you understand, that you'd like to get married in Fabio's gardens, but since it is just a month after Astoria and Draco, you'd like to strategically limit the invitations so the same people don't feel obligated to attend two weddings in the same venue a month apart.

"Have you thought about who you want to perform the ceremony? I think I could get Kingsley, if we ask him soon. His calendar fills up quickly."

"That was the last item on the list. It's all done, otherwise. Merlin, Potter, that copper brain is capable of careful observation, collection of data, analysis, and drawing a conclusion. That's what we call science. And to think up until now I'd been considering you useful primarily for making my kittens and defending our den. If Kingsley is willing, that would be perfect," Daphne said.

"I'll ask him tomorrow. Seventh of July, ten a.m., Greengrass Manor?" Harry asked.

"Uncanny," Daphne answered.

Draco and Astoria were married at Greengrass Manor at ten a.m., on June tenth, and did, as it turned out, spend the next two days at The Mill. Harry arranged for Winky to come by for a few hours both days, from mid-morning until mid-afternoon, to tidy up and manage the cottage, which really didn't require a lot of managing. Mrs. Greengrass orchestrated their meals, sending Trix over three times a day with trays of established Astoria favorites.

Winky's assistance freed Draco and Astoria from any responsibilities more complicated than enjoying each other's company. The weather cooperated, but for one rainy interlude, providing long, pleasant summer days for lane-strolling countryside rambles. Draco found the way back to the site of the destroyed manor. Astoria knew a useful charm for temporary seating, and conjured two simple chaises, and they stretched out, looking over the valley of the Dart for an hour, saying very little, just enjoying sitting together. Aside from a few family and close friends, no one knew where they were, so the world didn't intrude on their solitude.

The sky began to show signs of rain, and they conferred on timing, the consensus being they had time to walk back. They did, just, and ran the last hundred meters to the door, racing the fat drops that had begun to fall. Within minutes after they had reached the great room, the rain was pounding out a long, sustained drum roll on the slate roof. Draco climbed the stairs and did a careful inspection of the upper story, but he saw no sign of leaks, from the roof or around the windows.

"Draco?"

Astoria's voice sounded faint, and Draco hurried down the stairs. He looked around, didn't see Astoria, and started toward The Baths.

"In here," he heard, and turned around.

When he got to the door of the bedroom he saw Astoria's head and shoulders, the rest of her concealed under the sheet and light blanket.

"We have to change out of our wet clothes anyway, so, why waste…?"

"Are you sure?" Draco asked.

"Get out of those wet clothes, Draco," Astoria said, with a bit of edge in her voice.

Draco didn't need to be told twice.

"Draco," Astoria began, when he'd joined her under the covers.

"Astoria," Draco acknowledged.

"I want to try to have a family, Draco, and I'm going to try to have one with you. Do you understand? I won't be talked out of trying. Maybe it will happen and maybe it won't, but I will give it my best. I get the best care available, anywhere. Nature made us so that I'm perfect, physically, right at my age. Talk to Daphne if you don't believe me. Okay, end of lecture," Astoria said, and gave her husband a huge smile.

Draco smiled back, pulled Astoria's hand out from under the bed covers and held it. He lay there, looking at the ceiling, enjoying the sound of the rain on the slates and the company of the love of his life.

"Something wrong, Draco?" Astoria asked, after several minutes had passed.

"I want to give you what you want. I don't want to endanger you. You see my dilemma, I know you do," Draco answered.

Astoria slid closer and lifted herself up on her forearm.

"Draco, the night Madame Rosmerta kicked us out of the Three Broomsticks, I went back home, sat on Daphne's bed, and told her I was going to marry Draco Malfoy, and magic help me, I was going to have his children. If you think, at this point, I have not been over and over this with the best healers in Britain, and my sister, and my mother the greatest rune-witch of the age, you haven't been paying attention. You _have_ been paying attention, haven't you?" Astoria asked, while using her thumb to softly stroke Draco's cheek.

Draco made some vague reference to paying attention, but that was the last sound for some time, other than the rain on the slates.

The Baths, Fabio's contribution to civilized life at The Mill, really did hark back to Rome. Besides the usual bathroom fixtures and fittings, Fabio had designed in a small magical steam room for both baths. A little steel basin filled with smooth river rocks sat atop a tripod in each steam room. The purpose wasn't apparent unless one could conjure a certain kind of flame that burned for an hour or more, depending on the magical strength of the caster. A skilled witch or wizard could have steam coming off the rocks in about ten minutes.

Astoria had figured out the steam room on their wedding night, and they had both succumbed to the charms of steam and marble benches. Nothing stimulated conversation, nor made it more compelling, than a quiet room full of steam and two people wearing towels. Years later they would both say it was their consensus second favorite honeymoon activity.

"I hate to leave," Draco said. It was their second full day at The Mill. They'd planned to go to Durres, Albania the next day. A correspondent potioneer of Lucius Malfoy owned and ran a small tourist hotel in Durres with a view of the Adriatic. Catering to magical tourists on honeymoons and short getaways didn't make him a lot of money, but he liked having a place to put up witches and wizards who came to work with him for a few days.

"Me too, but it's important we go, Draco," Astoria said. "Mr. Malfoy was so thrilled when we accepted. You'd think he was the one going. Has he been there, or just seen the pictures?"

Draco, who was dipping more water for the basin, laughed out loud at Astoria's question.

"He hasn't been. I am at least half convinced he really wants us to go and write a review for him. He has a standing invitation, so he could go any time he wants. I've thought about it and I can't come up with any other reason he is so eager for us to go," Draco said. "No matter, it's too late to back out now. We'll go, have a good time, come home with stories, blah-blah. Potter will let us come back here again, won't he? If we ask nicely?"

Astoria paused to think before answering.

"Anyone can mis-read another person," she said, "But I believe Harry would be thrilled to have someone take an interest in this place. He works on it with Winky and Daphne, and it seems to have a big presence in his mind. He really likes taking people to see it. My guess is yes, whenever we want to, as long as we don't burn it down, he's happy people want to be here."

It wasn't long before Draco and Astoria decided they'd had enough steam, Astoria put out the flame, and they left for the traditional post-steambath shower. They returned to the great room and saw that Trix had delivered their supper of cold meats, cheese, pickles, potato salad and the Greengrass Manor version of Mad Monk bread.

"Winky," Astoria called. Winky apparated into the kitchen with a 'pop.'

"Winky is here, Miss Astoria," said Winky.

"Winky, Mr. Draco and I will be leaving in the morning, so I would like it if you could come and do one of your thorough cleaning jobs on The Mill, especially The Baths. We enjoyed the steambaths so much, but we want Mr. Harry and Miss Daphne to have nice, clean baths when they come. Can you take care of that for us?"

"Winky will take care of it," said the elf. "Can Winky do anything for Miss Astoria or Mr. Draco this evening?"

"No, Winky," said Astoria, "You've done a fine job, and we're very grateful, but that's all for today."

Astoria and Draco spent another night at The Mill and left for Durres the next morning. Lucius' correspondent, and their host in Durres, had arranged for a port key that took them both to the roof of the hotel. The gentleman was waiting at the door of a little penthouse on the roof when the honeymooners spiraled down to the bull's eye at the center of a painted target.

"Perfect!" said their host in greeting. "You are Draco, son of my esteemed colleague Lucius, and you are Astoria, our new Madame Malfoy. Welcome to Durres. My name is Kadare'. Whatever you want, please ask the desk. They've been informed to give your wishes the highest priority. Please come with me, your lunch is ready."

Astoria looked around. In one direction she could see the Adriatic, with a long corniche between the last street and the water. Here and there were café tables topped by colorful umbrellas. Looking the other way, she saw what could only be some classical ruins, which appeared to be the exterior of some monumental public building.

"Roman?" she asked Mr. Kadare'.

"Very good, yes, that is the Roman amphitheater. It was buried for centuries, so it is very well-preserved. We'll make sure you get a full tour. Just this way."

They followed Mr. Kadare' into what appeared to be a conventional elevator, although the trip from the penthouse to the lobby seemed exceedingly quick. Each had brought a minimal overnight bag, and Mr. Kadare' waved to a bellman who took the bags off to put in their room. The hotel dining room was just off the lobby. Mr. Kadare' led the way inside.

"I took the liberty," Mr. Kadare' said, waving his arm in the direction of a table that could have seated six, at least, laden with a cold tray of sliced meat, cheeses, raw vegetables, something that looked like little turnovers, two or three kinds of bread, and some condiments that resembled British cousins, but were clearly of another lineage. Draco saw several of the familiar tall, green bottles of Italian mineral water here and there in the dining room.

"Please, sit, eat. We didn't know your preferences, so the kitchen staff prepared a variety," said Mr. Kadare'. "This is a little wedding gift for you. While you eat, I'll tell you a bit about our city.

They wanted to give Mr. Kadare's introduction to the more interesting facts about Durres the attention it deserved, so they moved slowly as they selected a few vegetables, slices of bread, and cheese from the very well-provisioned tray.

"There are no particular hazards for witches or wizards in Durres. We observe the secrecy statute, much as I understand you do in Britain. You are free to walk about, like any other tourist. The hotel entrance has a little charm that makes it difficult for the non-magical person to pick out from the building fronts on both sides.

"Durres is a port, on the Adriatic, which connects it to the Mediterranean. There is little crime, certainly not in comparison to Marseilles, for example. I recommend you use an occlusionary charm, just as a precaution, if you want to stroll the corniche after dark.

"If you would like to see anything outside the city, let me arrange for someone from our local magical community to accompany you. Everyone on staff is a witch or wizard, and if none are available I know other, trustworthy people. Now, what would you like to do during your time in Durres?"

"Tour the amphitheater!" said Astoria.

"History. She likes ruins," Draco explained. "I want to walk the corniche, sit under an umbrella, and drink strong coffee with some of that mineral water."

"The cafes open around eight and close late. Mid-day can be very hot, depending on whether we have cloud cover. It's cooler along the water, as you'd expect. The sea is to our West, of course, so the sunset is spectacular," Mr. Kadare' advised. "If you want to see the sunset and return after dark, it shouldn't be a problem. The view is fine if you walk straight down the block toward the water. There is even a little coffee wagon with a few tables and chairs.

"Now, ruins—I'll get you some information on Butrint, and Madame can decide if she wants to tour it. It's in a national park south of here, but I can arrange for someone to take you by floo. There is a little magical hostel in the village near the park. They're connected to the network, so it's very convenient. I recommend an early start tomorrow morning, so you do your touring when it is a bit cooler. Butrint is somewhat remote, so crowds are almost never a problem."

Mr. Kadare' left with best wishes and a promise to send some literature on Butrint to their room. Draco and Astoria had managed to pick lightly and listen during Mr. Kadare's presentation. They got serious about lunch upon Mr. Kadare's departure.

Astoria's creation leaned towards green salad with some small sides of white beans in tomato sauce, grilled zucchini, yogurt, and cold boiled new potatoes. Draco built a sandwich of cold meat, sliced tomato, raw onion and mustard on some variety of very dark bread. A couple of days of rustic living and plenty of fresh air had done wonders for their appetites, it appeared.

"No need to gobble, Draco," Astoria quietly advised. "The strolling will take place as scheduled."

"I can't help it," Draco said, putting his sandwich down. "It's right outside! I can smell the sea. That corniche wants walkers, and I'll do my best to oblige. You'll come?" he finished, with only a slight plaintiveness coming through.

Astoria looked at him.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said, "Do you really need to ask if I'll use the precious minutes of our honeymoon to stroll the corniche in the company of my husband?"

"Mmmm…That _was_ a silly question, wasn't it?" Draco said.


	5. Chapter 5

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Five

Astoria and the Stag

Draco, it turned out, was able to stop gobbling his lunch. Astoria's assurances that she would, indeed, stroll the Durres corniche with him for as long as he needed, sit with him at a café, have an espresso and a glass of mineral water, all seemed to mollify his anxiety, producing a calming effect. This led to some quiet conversation, expressions of appreciation for Lucius' repeated suggestions that they accept his correspondent, Mr. Kadare's invitation to Durres, and offer of hospitality at his magical boutique hotel in the city center. Had it not been for Lucius, Durres would not have entered into their honeymoon planning. Now that they had arrived, they were already appreciative of the physical beauty, the small city feel, and the ambiance around their magical hotel.

Draco wanted to be in Astoria's presence. Other than that, he had wanted to get comfortable sitting in a chair, looking out at the Adriatic. Astoria had taken one look at the Roman ruins from the hotel roof and decided the whole trip was worth the effort, just for that view. When she heard about Butrint, she was ecstatic.

"Need to freshen up?" Draco asked, as they finished lunch. "We can check out the room, wash up…"

"And get to the corniche," Astoria finished for him. "Yes, I would like to see the room, maybe splash a little water on my face before tackling that walk."

They left the dining room and looked around the lobby.

"We don't even know the room number," Draco said. "There's the desk, let's ask."

"Sir?" asked the clerk on duty. "How can I help you and Madame?"

"We're Draco and Astoria Malfoy," Draco said, earning him a tight squeeze to his upper arm from Astoria. "Mr. Kadare' sent our bags to our room, but we didn't get the room number. We'd like to go freshen up a bit."

"One moment," the clerk said, reaching out to tap a small bell that sat on the desk. A creature that looked something like a hybridized British garden gnome-house elf materialized in front of a closed door behind the desk. Neither Astoria nor Draco saw just how he did it, but moments later he stood next to them on the lobby side.

"Sir? Madame?" the creature said.

"These are Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, Raki, they're guests of Mr. Kadare' and they'll need an escort to Four. Show them how the room works, if you would," the clerk said.

"Of course," Raki said. "If you'll accompany me…"

Draco looked at the little being, dying to know who or what it was, but wondering how to ask. The last thing a couple of honeymooners in a foreign country needed was to ask an offensive question out of ignorance. The creature was dressed in a maroon jacket with lots of gold braid and two rows of brass buttons on the front. He wore black trousers with maroon striping along the seams, and black shoes that looked a bit large for someone of his stature. Draco wondered if he normally went about barefoot, except on duty.

"Right now, you are about to burst, trying to repress your need to ask what I am, correct?" said the creature.

A chorus of, "Yes, uh-HUH, mm-hmm, How did you know?" came back from both Draco and Astoria.

"We're a very old race," Raki said. "Our name is unpronounceable by men. Legend says we formerly worked for the Immortals, Mt. Olympus, behind the scenes at Delphi, assisting the Dionysians when they got too impaired to complete their rituals, that sort of thing. Then the old gods lost influence, and fell on hard times, and they weren't able to keep us on. My kind's sagas incorporate some of the out-placement interviews. They're heartbreaking. Then the magical folk stepped up, and we've been helping each other out in this part of the world ever since."

Raki interrupted himself and turned to the elevator control panel.

"It's kind of a magical-self-service model. Just touch the number four on the plaque there…"

Draco looked and saw a brass plaque, void of any content except a large numeral '4.' He extended an index finger and touched the number. He didn't feel any magical contact, the number didn't depress like a push button, and there was no sense of movement, but the elevator door had no sooner closed than it opened right up again, into what was clearly a very large, well-appointed hotel suite. The windows were open to the sunny day outside, letting the frothy sheer white curtains lift and fall back, in slow and elegant waves. A bowl of assorted fresh fruit sat waiting on a low table in front of the settee. Raki strode to the center of the main room and turned to address Draco and Astoria.

"Candles and lamps are in every room. You can use _lumos_ and _nox_ the same as you do at home, and they will respond. The bedroom and bath are through there, and this room, as you can see, goes through between the street side and garden side of the hotel. If you need anything during your stay, another bottle of water, let's say, draw your wand and use it as if you were performing an amplification charm, and speak in a normal voice to the square that's painted on the wall just there. To leave the suite and return to the lobby, just touch the wall beside the elevator door, it will open, and you can touch the star on the panel inside and the elevator will take you down.

"There is a small bar there in the corner. Under the bar is a stone cooler with a variety of beverages. Guests generally find what they're looking for there, but, as I said, if not, the desk will supplement your supply.

Raki wasn't done. Draco and Astoria were both starting to wonder how the gods had lost influence with a whole race of Rakis to support them, but they didn't know it at the time. The comparing of notes would come later. Raki turned to Astoria.

"I understand Madame would like to visit some of our classical ruins?" he asked.

"Definitely. The amphitheater for sure. Mr. Kadare' said it might be possible to visit a national park," said Astoria.

"Butrint, a very well-preserved city further south along the coast. As good a classical site as you will find. If you go…" Raki let the sentence hang, suspended, while he stepped behind the bar.

"This…" he said, coming back out, "is a half-liter of the local wine. It is a bit raw, because this wine is made for consumption in the community that makes it, and it doesn't sit around in caves, waiting to become collectable."

Raki handed over a small, lozenge-shaped, terra cotta amphora, which had been wrapped in several layers of a rough, burlap-like fabric. The whole thing felt quite pleasingly cool, and a little damp, in Astoria's hands.

"If you go, you will encounter temples. It is good manners to pour out a little libation. Sometimes they're about, sometimes they're not. They'll know, regardless, and it raises you up a bit above the tourists on those buses, if you can appreciate my meaning," Raki finished.

"Thank-you, Raki," Draco said. "That was very informative. We'll see you downstairs."

Raki bowed and summoned the elevator.

"What do you think?" Draco asked.

"I definitely want to go, if we can arrange it for tomorrow," Astoria said. "Now, though, I need to wash my face and hands, and see if the amphitheater is open. A Roman amphitheater, around the corner from our hotel!"

The Roman amphitheater in Durres did, indeed turn out to be very well-preserved. Among other things, Astoria learned it was considered by classicists to be one of the best examples of the later Roman period's public buildings. It had not suffered the indignity of having significant parts of its marble stripped and taken to the kilns for the manufacture of agricultural lime.

After touring the amphitheater, Draco and Astoria strolled down to the Adriatic and walked the length of the corniche. Then they turned around and walked back, stopping at a coffee kiosk where Draco ordered two espressos and a bottle of cold mineral water, which they sipped, sitting under a large, red umbrella.

"This could become a habit," Draco observed.

"If I may, Mr. Malfoy," began Astoria, "This is something of a surprise for me. The Draco Malfoy who is well-known among British magicals is not noted for being an habitue' of seafront cafés. He is usually sighted in Wiltshire, at the family seat, among the white peacocks, or, occasionally at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade. Will secret facets begin to emerge now that we are joined in matrimony?"

Draco leaned against the back of his chair and stared at Astoria.

"We're all made of bits and pieces, Madame Malfoy. Have you ever been to Blackpool?" Draco asked.

"Don't think so," Astoria replied. "No," she decided, "I haven't."

Draco turned, looking back out toward the Adriatic, where low swells rose and sank, the undulations inducing a sense of calm and peace of mind.

"You know what it is, though?" Draco asked. "It's a resort, north of Liverpool, right on the water. They have a sandy beach that's said to be seven miles long, although I confess I never stepped it off. Magical families stay away in the summer. It's not for us, it's for muggles. All mechanical rides and noise and flashing electric lights at night, very muggle high culture, based on inducing sensations of light, motion and sustained cacophony, beyond our comprehension, really."

"I've heard of it. I think Tracey's been there," Astoria said.

"I expect so," Draco said. "Anyway, that is the summer, when everyone is taking vacation and going on holiday at the seaside. Most of that ends with the start of the school term, and the last singles and couples and pensioners are gone by the first of October.

"Blackpool used to transform on the first of October. Magical families could move about with a minimum of concealment. There were a small number of guest houses and discreet hotels that catered to the magical market. The magical managers would make their own weather inside their wards. One time I overheard a vampire complaining that he wasn't paying twenty galleons a day to stay cooped up in his room, and he'd better see some thick fog the next day or he'd be taking his business elsewhere.

"Anyway, Father used to take us to Blackpool over Christmas break, in the years before everything got so crazy. Once we were there, I was relatively free to get out. Mother was always looking out for danger, but Father would take me out on some pretext and let me find my own way back. We had an actual conspiracy. I had a set time to be back. When Mother braced him he'd say I was to be back at that time, and I'd try to be back five minutes early. Thus I was mature and responsible enough to handle fifteen minutes in an unsupervised state. Those Blackpool memories are my recollections of some measure of freedom, and normalcy. To this day, when I see a beach, or a corniche, same shall be walked, preferably from one end to the other."

Astoria looked at Draco, who broke off from his contemplation of the Adriatic and looked back. Both of them burst into laughter.

"Best Draco Malfoy story ever!" Astoria exclaimed when she'd regained control.

"Don't you believe me?" Draco asked, a little plaintively. "I swear it is all true!"

"Irrelevant!" Astoria said. "I don't care, one way or the other, because the imagery is just so…so…. If I'm stepping over the line, you can tell me, but was it really so oppressive?"

Draco thought before speaking.

"There was a time…When we're very small, we all need that care and protection, which I understand. Now, it's just a little annoying when she wants to do everything for me, but I grasp that she has lifelong habits and I suppose they must give her good feelings. She sat between Potter and me at your parents' and was loading up HIS plate AND mine, do you remember? Can you imagine, a few years ago? Potter! I don't think she has a choice. Something is in there and it has to come out.

"It was very constrictive, though, from late childhood until I was twenty or so. I needed to be learning to handle the world, and she needed to keep me warm, safe and properly fed. The two impulses were…"

Astoria laid her hand on Draco's.

"At odds," she finished his thought. "So, ready for a little stroll?"

Draco picked up his cup, took a last sip, chased the espresso with a little of the Italian mineral water, and took Astoria's hand.

Promenading in late afternoon light along the Adriatic has its charms, but dinner has as well, and before too long they were back in the hotel, in Room Four.

"Draco, look, did you notice this?" Astoria asked.

She opened a pair of French doors that led onto a small balcony. A breeze began to lift the curtains, bringing a faint salty scent into the room. They stepped out onto the balcony and discovered they had an unobstructed view down the hill and out to sea.

"When's sunset, I wonder?" Draco asked. "Late, I expect. It's mid-June, the longest days of the year."

"I was thinking of dinner in that garden in the rear," Astoria said.

"If that's what you want, we'll cancel sunset," Draco assured her.

"I've heard Durres is known for fish," Astoria said. She drew her wand and stood in front of the painted square. "Draco, please look in the cooler and see if there is any white wine."

Astoria put her wand to her throat and spoke to the square.

"Desk? This is Room Four," she said.

"Madame Malfoy, how can we help you this afternoon?" said a voice.

"My husband and I would like a platter of your best fish, please," Astoria said, "Enough for the two of us, along with a vegetable or potatoes and a salad. Could the kitchen do that, and send it to Room Four when it's ready?"

"It will be our pleasure, Madame," said the voice. "Allow us just a few minutes to put in the order."

Draco held up a bottle of some kind of white wine. The label was in Albanian, so they didn't have any idea what it said.

"Thank-you, we'll be here," Astoria said to the square, and lowered her wand. "Don't open it, and we'll ask the waiter if it's the right variety for whatever they send up."

They'd washed up and were standing on the balcony when Raki arrived with dinner. The little creature pushed a cart taller than himself into the room.

"Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, how nice to see you again," he said, removing covers from trays and setting them aside. "Do you wish to dine on the balcony?"

"I'd love to," Astoria said, "But it doesn't look big enough."

"Is it big enough now?" Raki asked.

Draco and Astoria turned back toward the French doors and saw a very commodious balcony with a good-sized table and two chairs had replaced the tight little wrought iron model that had been there a minute before.

"That's some serious magic," Astoria said.

"Thank-you, Madame," Raki said, a big smile on his face. "So few recognize that these days, sadly. Ah, it's the times."

Raki went to work setting the table, and soon had a large platter of fish, boiled potatoes and lemon wedges ready in the center, with side dishes of tossed salads and green beans, cups, saucers, tumblers, and a tall green bottle of Italian mineral water ready for diners.

"Raki, we wondered if this wine would complement the fish," Draco said, holding out the bottle of white.

Raki took a look at the label and smiled.

"Mr. Malfoy, you could not find a better bottle of wine for your meal," Raki assured them. "Have you decided about Butrint?"

"I want to go," Astoria said, looking at Draco.

"Then we're going," Draco affirmed.

"Wonderful, if you'll just be down in the lobby by eight, everything will be ready. Enjoy your meal," and Raki stepped back into the elevator, the door closing behind him.

"Well, that fish smells good," Draco observed.

"And it needs eating, by someone," Astoria seconded. "I suppose we could sit on the balcony having dinner, watching the sun set behind the Adriatic, if that isn't too decadent."

Draco pulled out a chair.

"Not too decadent. Just decadent enough," he said.

Astoria sat down, and Draco pushed her chair up to the table. Astoria served fish from the platter while Draco applied himself to opening and pouring the wine. Fish, fresh green salad, and a highly complementary white wine went well, they found, with viewing the sunset from a balcony overlooking the Adriatic.

In the morning, they arrived in the hotel lobby at seven forty-five. A simple breakfast of bread with jam, hard-boiled eggs, orange juice and coffee had been prepared for them, along with two box lunches. Astoria took a canvas tote bag to carry the amphora of local wine, and the box lunches went in the bag. When the bag was fully packed, Draco took it over and wouldn't give it up, despite Astoria's offer.

They took the floo connection to the little magical tourist hotel outside the national park. The hotel staff fussed over the newlyweds, as is appropriate, making sure they had hats, a half-liter bottle of water for each of them, and the official park brochure.

They paid the very reasonable fee at the entrance and began following the routes shown on the map to the major sites. Besides the ruins, the physical beauty on the little peninsula was near-overwhelming, and they stopped repeatedly to take in views of the lake and the strait that separated Corfu from the mainland.

The time was getting on toward noon and Draco and Astoria were both thinking about their box lunches. Draco spotted a bench by an overlook and said he was going to have a seat and look out to sea for a bit. Astoria had seen a few upright columns a short distance away. On a hunch, she took the amphora with her and walked over to give them a closer look.

An ancient builder had had the foresight to leave behind a low marble bench, and Astoria sat down to study the columns. A sound, like a stick breaking, came from a little patch of shrubs, and Astoria sat, quietly, and watched a stag slowly pick its way out of the cover and present itself to her. Astoria nodded in greeting, and the stag nodded back. Without her really thinking about it, Astoria's hands felt their way to the amphora's stopper, and slowly, slowly, twisted it back and forth. The stopper came out without too much protest, and Astoria held the amphora out for the stag to see, tilted it, and poured out a generous libation.

"Sometimes they're here," she said to herself. "Sometimes they're not."

Astoria and the stag continued to look at each other. Eventually, the stag walked closer and tilted its head down, presenting its antlers to Astoria. She didn't have a ribbon or anything to use to make one, so Astoria pulled at the raw edge of the rough cloth wrapped around the amphora and tore off a strip, which she tied to a prong. The stag raised his head and looked her in the eye before ambling back to the patch of shrubs from which he'd emerged.

Astoria looked around to see fog rolling up over the low wall that ran along the drop down to the sea. It was thin at first, just a little feathery tendril, but quickly grew and became an opalescent blanket over Astoria, such that she could see only the immediate vicinity around her bench. A human form coalesced in the mist, stepped forward, and joined Astoria on the marble bench. A very fit woman of indeterminate age, she wore a short tunic that she didn't bother pulling down, and carried a bow, with a quiver of arrows.

"Considering the stag, my first guess is I am being honored by a visit from Artemis," Astoria said.

"Where do they still teach the young our stories? Yes, I'm Artemis, and you are?"

"I'm from England," Astoria said. "My name is Astoria Greengrass Malfoy. I went to school in Scotland, but that isn't why I recognized you. From the time I was first learning to read, I've loved the stories of the Immortals. I'm a witch. My whole family, on both sides, are witches and wizards. You and the others, with your feuds and finagling, and meddling in peoples' business, you carry on just like we do. I've always felt a strong affinity, like I would have been a perfect fit if I were born into your family.

"I just married a wizard. We're staying in Durres on our honeymoon and came down for the day. I was hoping to find a temple or an enchanted grove and see if one of you would come. You're perfect. Something tells me you already know why."

"Why don't you go ahead and tell me what you want?" Artemis asked, playing idly with her bow as they chatted.

"I bear a curse," Astoria said. "A blood curse, that an ancestor incurred for reasons no one remembers. It lay dormant, then it turned up in me. The healers don't have a cure. I won't have a very long life, but I'm determined to give my husband a child. If I can conceive, there is a good chance we'll be successful. I'm not asking for anything extraordinary. Fertility and childbirth are yours. I'll happily do all the work, if you can keep any malevolent actors at bay."

"You are determined," Artemis stated, looking Astoria up and down. "You will trade some of your time for what you're asking, but you know that, don't you?"

"Yes," Astoria said. "I've always known, even before they told me everything. I don't blame them. They were trying to protect me from understanding what made me different from the other children. I'm going to leave him behind, much sooner than is fair or decent, no matter what I do. All my life I've wanted a family. It wasn't always clear my…"

Astoria didn't think it necessary to finish.

"You're very unusual," Artemis said. "You're from England, but you found your way here. The Immortals don't get a lot of visitors these days, aside from the classicists and the only things that interest them are getting tenure and a full professorship. They give the impression they lust after a life in tweed."

She shook her head in mystification at such an alien thought.

"I can't promise you anything, Astoria," Artemis continued. "Keep doing what you're doing. You have to wait to see what will happen. I'll do what I can to blunt any outside maliciousness. Listen to your healers. Rest and stay fit. That's very important. Thank you for coming to see me. You're so polite and respectful.

"I'm going to tell my father about you. He loves stories about brave mortals with pure hearts, facing danger and hopeless odds. You're right, you would have fit into our family. We had a poet, in the old days. Odysseus is every mortal's best guide in these things, so I advise you to spend a little time with Homer every day. You won't regret it.

"Our little patch of fog is breaking up, and I must go with it."

Artemis stood and took a few steps into the last thick wisps of the fog. She looked back at Astoria, one last time.

"No unnecessary exertions right now," she said, just as she and the fog dissolved.

Astoria stood up and walked back to where Draco still sat, staring out at the strait, with Corfu beyond.

"That little bit of fog that came up was thick, wasn't it?" Astoria asked.

"Fog? There wasn't any. I've had a clear view the whole time I've been here," Draco replied.

"Imagine that," Astoria said, as she put the amphora back in the tote. "Ready to walk a little further? That looks like the theater just over there."

They made their way to the theater, looking for a shady place to break out the box lunches. The sun was close to directly overhead, but they found a passageway on the exterior that provided shade and cool stone footings that made serviceable benches. They put the box lunches, water bottles, and the amphora between them and started taking inventory.

The lunches included a sliced bread roll, some mild white cheese, an assortment of fresh carrot spears, radishes, and little tomatoes, a portion of baklava wrapped in waxed paper, and two grape leaves stuffed with herbed rice. There were two small paper cups in each box.

"What's left?" Draco asked.

"The theater, then there are some city walls, then some excavations that are going on, if the archaeologists are there," Astoria read from the park brochure.

Draco poured a little wine into one of the paper cups and raised it to his lips.

"Ugh…don't bother," he said, putting his cup down and reaching for a water bottle.

"Remember what Raki said? It's a bit raw. Try it with a little water. They always watered their wine in classical times," Astoria advised. "Maybe this doesn't taste right if without a bit of mixer."

Draco looked doubtful, but he poured a little water into the cup anyway. He picked up the cup and took a sip.

"Makes all the difference," he said.

Astoria poured a little of the local wine into her cup, which she then topped off with water. She lifted her cup and held it out to Draco, who lifted his in turn.

"Durres," Astoria said.

"Butrint," confirmed Draco.

They took a sip each.

"One more," Astoria suggested. "Artemis."

"Okay," said Draco, pausing to think. "Zeus."

They toasted Artemis and Zeus, Astoria giggling as she tried to swallow.

"Was Zeus the only other god you could think of?" she asked.

"I considered Poseidon, but then I thought it might be wise to honor Zeus first, and catch up with Poseidon, out of respect for thunderbolts," Draco said.

The sunshine and fresh sea air must have been just the thing to whet appetites. Draco and Astoria finished the box lunches and most of their water. The amphora didn't go down much, but Astoria figured that was fine, because they might discover they needed some for another libation later on.

The rest of the park had some serious ruins, but Astoria didn't have any more audiences with Immortals or their close relatives. Even so, their agreed-upon time for heading back to Durres arrived much too soon, for both Astoria and Draco. They worked their way back to the park entrance and on to the little magical hotel. The hotel staff insisted they use their facilities to wash up, and pressed fresh bottles of water on them, even though they had never officially been guests.

Upon arrival in Mr. Kadare's hotel in Durres, Draco suggested a short walk along the corniche, to be followed by another fish dinner on the balcony. It was still a beautiful day, the afternoon sun at a benign angle, compared with mid-day. Astoria was feeling a bit frazzled, but she thought a short walk over easy ground with Draco might be a pleasant transition to dinner and a good night's sleep. They walked the block to the corniche and turned right. They hadn't gone far when a wave hit the boulders at the bottom of the wall and threw water up and over the top. The sea went out quickly and a second wave built immediately and came rushing in. Draco could hear it roar as it got closer to the corniche.

"Back, now!" Draco said, turning Astoria around and throwing an arm around her waist. He lifted her up, nearly off her feet and tried to run inland, but it was too late. The wave came up over the wall and across the corniche, catching them with their backs turned and knocking them to the concrete. The water headed back seaward, sucking Draco and Astoria along with it.

"No!" Draco shouted. He tried to pull Astoria on top of himself, so she would not be abraded by the rough cement. A bollard near the edge of the corniche appeared before them and Draco grabbed it with his free arm, slowing their progress toward the sea. He managed to wrap a leg around the bollard, freeing both arms to hang onto Astoria.

Another wave was building offshore, and Draco could see it would be the largest yet.

"Run, Astoria, get up and run!" Draco shouted, "He can have me!"

"Never!" Astoria screamed. "I-WILL-NOT-LEAVE-YOU!"

Astoria clung tighter than ever to Draco, shouting over the now-deafening roar of the great wave's approach. A screaming sound added to the din, raising in volume along with the wave. They didn't associate the sound and the wind at first, but a wind from landward met the great wave and the two contended for what seemed like a very long time, but probably wasn't, before the wave acceded to the superior force, and collapsed back into the sea.

Water was trickling seaward all around and underneath him when Draco became aware of a pair of hands that appeared to be lifting both himself and Astoria to their feet, one hand to one armpit, but the hand lifting him didn't feel like it was exerting any force. One moment he was on the concrete surface of the corniche, and the next he was on his feet, as was Astoria. He looked at their benefactor and saw a woman, not plain, but not conventionally attractive either, wearing a kind of shift like any other tourist in summer and carrying an odd, oblong zippered bag slung across her back.

"No unnecessary exertions, please?" the woman asked Astoria before turning to Draco.

"Take care of your obligations, young wizard," she said.

She gave a toss of her head toward the sea.

"My uncle is easily miffed, the slightest thing can anger him. Always feeling he gets put in second place to Father, I suspect. The planet is two thirds water, and it all belongs to him, but is that enough?"

Turning back to Astoria she dropped her voice as she said, "Father loves your story. Now that he's gotten a look at you, I advise you to be very careful around swans, if you get my meaning."

"I do—how exciting!" Astoria said, clearly delighted with the news.

The woman turned and took a few steps up the corniche and disappeared.

"What was that?" Draco asked, total confusion showing on his face.

"That was our opportunity to get back to our hotel and button up for tonight. Tomorrow, we're going to be back here, as soon as we get up, with the rest of that local wine, and a bottle of water, and a bowl, and we are going to speak respectfully to Mr. Poseidon and ask that he look kindly on our endeavors. It seems he took offense when you deferred to thunderbolts a few hours ago, and he decided to teach us a lesson."

Draco wasn't a classicist. His knowledge of mythology reached the level of rudimentary, hence his awareness of Zeus and Poseidon. He thought Astoria's references would become clearer with time, if he waited patiently, so he decided to let her direct their response.

Dinner on the balcony was every bit as good as the previous evening. If anything, the fish itself was better. The sunset was dazzling once again. Astoria skipped coffee and tea, announcing she'd be doing everything she could to put in eight to ten hours of uninterrupted sleep after their full day of adventures. After all, they had to get up early to take their leave of the god of the sea, then port key all the way back to Wiltshire at eleven.


	6. Chapter 6

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Six

Tying the Knot

Draco and Astoria arrived at Malfoy Manor a few minutes past eleven, just as scheduled. Their living arrangements, as a married couple, were simple. Draco, an only child, had a suite of rooms at his parents' place, and the newlyweds divided those up before the wedding. Each had a room with a bath, and they shared another as their bedroom.

When they got back to Wiltshire, they took their bags upstairs and threw them on their bed. They opened the bags, retrieved toiletries and a few packable souvenirs, and left the clothes for the elves to find, launder and return to closets and dressers.

Draco led the way downstairs. The first room they tried was Lucius' study. Draco knocked on the door, and heard a faint, "Come in," through the thick mahogany.

"You're back," said Lucius. "How delightful. What did you think of Durres?"

"Perfect," Draco said.

"Mr. Kadare' made us promise to come back, before he gave us the port key," Astoria added.

"He refused to let us pay, as you suspected," Draco said. "He said it was his duty as an Albanian to be our host. He couldn't turn down your gift, though, so he accepted your _felix felices._ He got the better of the deal."

"And that's fine," Lucius said. "I hope it does well for him. We've had a very beneficial partnership on some joint projects. There are more than enough obscure potions between England and Albania to keep us busy for the rest of our lives. I do have to accept his invitation to visit now, I suppose. It wouldn't do to put him off any longer, now that you have brought back a glowing review."

Astoria and Draco looked at each other and remembered their conversation that concluded with just that thought.

"Something from Mr. Kadare'," Draco said, holding out a small alabaster jar. Lucius removed the cover and a pleasant scent filled the room.

"Dried mimosa blossoms," Draco said. "Mimosas are kind of a national passion in Albania, we were told."

"Looks like I owe Kadare' an owl."

"Astoria," Lucius said. "Nothing from you? Did you have a good time?"

"Perfect," said Astoria. "The hotel is a gem, Durres is just the right size, and we met some interesting, ah, people. And—creatures."

"We'll be delighted to hear all about it," Lucius said, sounding quite honest when he said it. "Now, Draco, your mother is around here someplace, so you'd better go track her down or we'll all be in trouble."

Astoria and Draco found Narcissa in a small hothouse that was attached to the kitchen. Narcissa liked to have fresh parsley, cilantro, borage and other herbs for cooking. She also liked being in the greenhouse, with the mist and scents and risers full of pots and trays.

"You're back!" said Narcissa when they walked in. "How was it?"

"The Mill, or Durres?" asked Draco.

"All of it," said Narcissa.

"Perfect," Astoria and Draco said together.

"The Mill was just what I needed, after all that wedding craziness," said Astoria.

"Albania was frosting," Draco continued. "Sunny days, wonderful seaside strolling in Durres, a side trip to a stunning archaeological park. You and Father need to do it soon."

"This is for you," Astoria said, holding out the amphora. "It's a local wine. We had some before, so the hotel filled this up before we left. We recommend a little water with it because it's not really aged much."

"If at all," Draco added. "At half wine, half water, though, it's completely different. Quite drinkable."

"Thank-you," Narcissa said, looking over the amphora. "Very rustic, isn't it? Fits in well here in our outpost.

"Now, what is new at Greengrass Manor? Have you been in touch?"

"No, we agreed there would be time for that after the honeymoon," said Astoria.

"Very wise," said Narcissa. "Will you be staying for lunch? It's about time we convened. Did your father say anything?"

Draco and Astoria looked at each other. They hadn't taken the time to make lunch plans during their busy morning.

"Sure," said Astoria. "Just as well. We can catch up with the Greengrasses anytime."

Anytime turned out to be just after three. Astoria and Draco came via floo, to the library, which was deserted. They walked on out through the house to the sunny room. Fabio and Kendra were about half-way down the slope to the green, dressed in their gardening outfits. Kendra wore her hair tied up under a very fashionable silk scarf topped by a wide-brimmed straw hat. Both of them had two gardening elves assisting as they pulled weeds and volunteers that had taken root out of place.

"Fabio, look who's here," Kendra called out, dropping her wilted stems on a pile the elves were tending.

"Draco, and his bride," Fabio observed, clearly pleased to see them. "Home from their travels."

Fabio turned to the elves.

"That's enough for today," he said. "Put all of this in the compost, if you would, please."

The two parties diverged, four back to the sunny room, and four to take the stalks and stems to the compost.

"How did you find The Mill?" Kendra asked, of neither one, particularly.

"Perfect," Draco and Astoria said in unison.

"We walked and talked…" said Draco.

"And got caught in some rain," Astoria finished for him. Neither could look at the other, remembering the result of getting wet.

"Father, those baths," Astoria began, "I don't know what to say. I felt like a Roman. The centurion here did too, I think."

"Centurion?" Draco mused. "I'd have thought I'd be a better fit for Soothsayer—'Beware the Ides of March.'"

"That is quite a routine, though, I'd look forward to doing it again," Astoria said. "Get up and eat the breakfast Mother sent over, then stroll a couple of lanes, then back to eat the lunch Mother sent over, then take a nap…Eventually, steam bath!"

"Glad you figured that out," Fabio said. "I wasn't sure they were obvious."

"It was Draco," Astoria admitted. "He just wanted an excuse to see me dressed in a towel."

Fabio put his hand to his brow, and Kendra gave Astoria a look involving pursed lips and a little head shake.

"Trix, can we have a pitcher of lemonade?" Kendra called out when they reached the sunny room. Fabio, in command of the magical climate control, waved his wand and the stuffiness went out of the room. Trix arrived with the lemonade and tumblers, which she placed on the table. She snapped her fingers and a tray filled with small white towels materialized. Trix passed the tray around, and everyone took one.

With the return of civilized feelings, stemming from assiduous use of the hot towels, everyone turned their attention to the lemonade, and agreeable conversation.

"These are for you," Astoria said, dipping into her canvas tote.

She presented Kendra and Fabio little alabaster models of the temple where she'd met Artemis.

"Something for the desk," Astoria added.

"Oh, Astoria, it's perfect!" exclaimed Kendra, holding the temple up and rotating it to look from every angle.

"It really is," Fabio said, adding, "Glad you inherited your mother's good taste."

"Says the resident architect of Greengrass Manor," Kendra observed, reaching over and giving Fabio's hand a pat.

"Where's Daphne?" Astoria asked.

"I expect she's at St. Mungo's," Kendra said. "She and Harry ought to be working right now. If you'll stay for dinner, I'll send her an owl with an invitation to join us. They'd probably like to hear all about your trip."

Daphne was, indeed, at St. Mungo's that very moment, standing and looking at her fiancé who lay, well-bloodied and stripped to his waist, on a gurney in the magical emergencies section, being treated for the damage done by a cutting curse.

Harry, it seemed, had been sitting at his desk, clearing his in-box, when he was informed of a disturbance in Knockturn Alley. The afternoon's dull and boring paperwork exercise held no further interest for him. He grabbed his jacket and headed for his outer office.

"Knockturn Alley," he said to his assistant, in a sort-of explanation.

The senior auror among his immediate staff stood.

"I'll come with you," he said, stepping out from behind his desk.

Harry started to tell him there was no need, and he could stay and run things while Harry was out, but he saw the no-nonsense look on his colleague's face.

"Come on, then," he said, and turned for the atrium.

The two aurors took the floo to the Leaky Cauldron then headed for Knockturn Alley. Harry saw two aurors in doorways on opposite sides of the alley. The buildings were substantial, one brick and one stone, so they weren't in danger themselves, but they had poor angles on their quarry, who was holding them back by casting an impressive array of jinxes and spells that forced the aurors to block and kept them from going to offense.

Harry assessed the situation and quickly concluded that one more wand ought to tip the balance and end the stalemate.

"Whoever you are," he called down the alley, "This business is concluded. Lower your wand. Don't cause further damage. We'll go sit down and give you a chance to explain yourself, but you must drop this, now."

A bolt, some kind of pulverizing spell, hit the corner of the building just above Harry's head, spraying red dust and brick chunks everywhere.

"Damn!" said Harry, looking around. "Get those gawkers back. I'm going to step out and get him to cast something toward me, which I'll block, and you're going to cast a _petrificus_ so we can bundle him up and get him out of here. Ready?"

"Mr. Potter…" his senior colleague began to protest.

Harry cut him off.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Sir," said the man, who knew when to keep his peace. "Ready, sir."

Harry did step out and draw the wizard's attention, and he did block the curse. Trouble was, he didn't block it quite well enough, and got a cutting curse to his upper left chest and deltoid for his effort. Otherwise the plan worked well, the wizard exposed himself and the auror cast a perfectly-aimed _petrificus_ that put their opponent on the pavement.

The senior auror took charge, tasking the two remaining aurors to handle the downed suspect, while he pulled Harry to him and apparated straight to St. Mungo's. Harry was on the gurney receiving treatment in no time. Even so, he had extensive damage to some very important muscles and nerves. The emergency department healer had two assistants cut away Harry's jacket and shirt. His clothing was already well-soaked with his blood.

Another assistant took the shredded items away. Harry was vaguely aware of hearing the assistant casting _purgio_ and, for all he knew, some other spells, to deal with the bloody mess.

"Dittany!" called the emergency healer, while holding a compress over Harry's wounds, peeking now and then to look for spurting blood that would indicate arterial involvement. Harry was very fortunate, though, and the cutting curse appeared to have stopped just short of his ribs, sparing his heart, aorta, and other major blood vessels. He would probably get better, but there would be wand work, dittany, and a long rehabilitation in his future.

Word swept the hospital that Harry Potter had been brought to Emergency by one of the senior aurors. Rumor and speculation overtook the dissemination of rational, and official, communication within minutes. St. Mungo's employed a small magical social work staff. When the first person burst through the door, the chief magical social worker, who worked closely with Daphne, left immediately for the mental maladies unit. She found Daphne in the little shared office near the nurses' station.

"Hi, Healer Daphne," she said, focusing on keeping her tone light and soothing. "I wonder if I could have a word?"

She looked at the two staff who had been conferring with Daphne. They sensed the seriousness in her voice and manner, picked up some folders, and left the little office. The chief social worker, whose name was Mariana, closed the door softly behind them.

"Daphne," she began, "There is a report circulating that Harry has been brought to the emergency department. I want to go down there with you while we check this out. I don't think you need to be up here getting hearsay and half-truths. Are you fine with that?"

Daphne nodded, temporarily unable to speak.

"Take my arm," directed Mariana, and they departed mental maladies for the lift.

The emergency department was surprisingly calm, considering the events of the previous twenty minutes. Mariana kept Daphne's arm in something of a vise, making sure she'd be able to ease her into a chair, or, at worst, the floor if Daphne were suddenly to faint.

Harry was conscious and saw Daphne when she and Mariana came through the pair of swinging doors.

"Oh, damn," he said to himself, getting the emergency healer's attention.

"Did I hurt you, Head Auror? Are you in pain?" asked the healer.

"Not too bad," Harry said, 'It's…"

"It's me," Daphne said. Her colleague looked up.

"Keep this on the wound," he directed one of the assistants, and stepped away from the gurney.

"Over here," the emergency healer said.

"What happened?" asked Mariana.

"Cutting curse, across his upper left torso and some involvement of his left deltoid muscle, no major arteries affected, nor, it appears, did the curse reach any bones. There is some blood loss, but that should respond to rest and attention to eating and drinking the right things."

"Can I talk to him?" Daphne asked.

"Of course," said the healer. "We're still working, but you'll stay out of our way, I'm confident."

The last was as much question as it was statement.

"I can stay back, if you'll just remember to tell me when it is time to give him a good swat," Daphne assured her colleague.

"Harry Potter," Daphne said, when she got back to the gurney.

"Just one of those things," Harry said, trying to convey sincere reassurance.

"Is this your way of saying you'll be busy the first week of July?"

"I'll be fine by then," Harry promised.

"Oh, really? I believe you've surrendered your right to say if you're fine or not," Daphne said. "It looks to me like the healers have taken over your life and free will for the foreseeable future."

"It's not that bad," Harry responded.

Daphne laid her hand on Harry's forehead.

"And you know this how?" she asked.

"This guy said so," Harry said, looking over at the emergency healer. "I'm sorry, Healer, I didn't even ask your name."

"It's Healer Glass, Mr. Potter," said the healer. "Merlin Glass. And it isn't that bad, you're correct, but we'll be doing a little more here, then we're going to have to immobilize that arm and shoulder with some bandaging, just so you don't defeat the dittany by getting too lively on us."

Mariana appeared at Daphne's side.

"Someone asking for you outside," she said, speaking just for Daphne.

"Don't go away," Daphne ordered, getting a big smile in return.

Hermione and Percy Weasley were waiting just outside the doors to emergency.

"Daphne!" Hermione exclaimed when Daphne stepped out. The two wrapped their arms around one another, and Daphne buried her face in Hermione's shoulder.

"Let's sit down, right over here," Hermione said, half holding the sobbing Daphne upright, half steering her to a row of chairs.

"He could have been killed!" Daphne gasped, managing, somehow, to keep her voice down. The last thing a patient being put back together in the emergency section needed was to hear a loved one wailing just outside. Knowing that didn't make it any easier for Daphne not to do just that.

"Don't talk, Daphne, you don't have to talk right now," Hermione assured her, one hand on Daphne's back, and one on her head. Hermione started rocking Daphne, according to age-old instinct, making soft sh-h-h-h, sh-h-h-h sounds and assuring Daphne she didn't have to talk, and soon it would all turn out fine.

Slowly, slowly, Daphne's self-control returned. The convulsive sobbing ended, then the tears stopped, then her breathing returned to normal, and she drew back from Hermione. She dabbed her eyes, then embraced Hermione once again.

"Thank-you," she said, "That doesn't happen very often."

"We know," said Mariana, Hermione and Percy together.

"Does anyone know what he was doing?" Daphne asked.

"The report is two aurors were in a standoff with someone near Borgin and Burke's, and Harry assumed charge," Percy said.

Turning to Mariana, he asked, "Any chance you can pry his colleague out of there? He can go back as soon as he tells us what happened."

The auror came out, and Mariana stayed inside to give Harry someone other than emergency personnel to talk to.

"Everyone," he said, nodding. "Mr. Potter and I went down to Knockturn Alley to see if we could do anything. I didn't know he would step in personally. I'm so sorry, Healer Greengrass."

This last came with a definite catch in his voice.

"Not your fault," Daphne reassured him. "He does that. I'll have a word with him, when he's a bit stronger. How are you?"

"A bit shaken, I'll admit, ma'am," said the auror.

"Can you give me something to take back?" Percy asked. "The Director and the Minister will be expecting a preliminary report."

"Yes, Minister," said the auror. "All we knew was there was a disturbance in Diagon Alley. Mr. Potter headed out, and I went with him. We floo'd to the Leaky Cauldron, went by foot to Diagon Alley, and we found the two aurors on the scene in a confrontation with someone who was behind some good cover, and using his wand pretty effectively, keeping them from moving in. Mr. Potter ordered whoever it was to put down the wand and come with us, and they blasted the corner off the brick wall we were behind. There were people standing around watching. He wanted someone to get them all back. I think he was more concerned innocent people would get hurt than anything else.

"Mr. Potter attempted to step out and block the next spell while I was supposed to take the other person down. It all went exactly according to plan, except he didn't block quite well enough.

"I put a _petrificus_ on the other guy, or woman, never did see which it was, and left them for the two aurors on the scene, and I brought Mr. Potter here by apparation. The emergency healers went to work and that's where we were when you all arrived."

"It sounds like you did everything right, Auror," Daphne said. "If no one has anything else, why don't you go back in and keep him company?"

No one objected to Daphne's suggestion. The auror went back inside, and Mariana stepped out. She walked across the waiting area and sat next to Daphne, taking her hand.

"He's a little vague at the moment," Mariana said. "Healer Merlin says it's shock. They've got the bleeding stopped and dittany working. He'll have a wrap around the chest and shoulder to keep him immobilized. Healer Merlin said they'll prescribe a potion for shock, and you're welcome back. No decision yet on whether they'll want to keep him overnight."

Daphne pulled Hermione into a hug again.

"Thank you for coming," she said. "Why don't you come in with me? You too, Percy, then you can tell the Minister you personally scolded him."

The rest of the afternoon and early evening followed Mariana's scenario very closely. Daphne's party found Harry sitting in bed, propped up on pillows, drinking a potion through a straw. Hermione was clearly caught in an excruciating internal conflict, knowing she shouldn't do anything to aggravate the patient's condition, yet wanting desperately to throw her arms around Harry and pull him close. Percy as well was searching for the right combination of reassurance and concern.

"Harry," Percy said, "Glad to see you looking so well."

"But…" Harry came back.

"But?" Percy answered, puzzled.

"Glad to see you looking so well, BUT, Bart and Kingsley will be wanting a word with me?" Harry explained.

Percy pondered Harry's response, then burst out laughing.

"Actually," he said, "Something like that, yes. But no need to think about it now. We have a preliminary report from your colleague, and you two took care of a volatile situation, protected some innocent bystanders, and used a minimum of force to get it done. I wouldn't get too concerned about it."

"Hermione," Harry said, "Thanks for coming. Reassure Ron, et cetera, et cetera."

"Harry," said Hermione, "When Bart and the minister get through with you…"

"You'll want your turn, yes, I understand. I really do. Between us, I'd be the same," Harry said. "Meanwhile, see if the runes are okay with me getting married on the seventh of July. I promised Daphne…"

"Harry," Daphne said, with a sob. "Aggghhh…"

Daphne had to exit the emergency unit once more.

"That did not go over well," Harry observed.

Hermione looked daggers at him. Percy cleared his throat, fist against his lips. The auror looked out into the unit.

"I'll go get her back if you promise to behave," Hermione said.

Harry nodded, and took another pull on his straw.

"Harry, going back to see Bart and Kingsley. Keep us apprised of your whereabouts, if they let you go home?" Percy said.

"Of course," Harry answered.

Percy looked at the auror and tilted his head toward the door in a 'Can we have a word?' gesture.

"I would expect Mr. Fudge and the minster to assign someone to stay with him, at least until everyone is assured the incident was street crime and not aimed at him specifically. Can you stay a little longer until I get back and confer with them?" Percy asked.

"Of course, Minister," said the auror. "I'm prepared to stay as long as necessary."

"Excellent," Percy said. "Thank-you for everything you've done today. You may have saved his life."

"Anytime, Minister," said the auror, a hard edge apparent underneath his most agreeable words.

Percy walked out as Daphne was walking in. She pulled up a chair next to Harry's bed.

"Coffee or tea?" she asked the auror.

"Coffee, ma'am," he said. "But if you're here, I can…"

Daphne held up her hand.

"Faye," she said, "Can you join me in emergency?"

Faye appeared with a 'pop.'

"Healer Daphne?" said Faye.

"Faye, the Head Auror's distinguished colleague requires a cup of coffee. Brew a fresh pot if you need to. Do you have any soup?"

"Yes, Healer Daphne, we have chicken noodle," Faye said. "Everyone says it is particularly good today."

"Please bring our friend a cup of soup and some biscuits, along with his coffee," Daphne said. "You can meet him just outside there in the lounge. Charge it to my account."

Faye disapparated with another 'pop.'

"You might as well go on out, it won't take her thirty seconds," Daphne said. "I've got my wand. Anyone who wants to get at him will have to go through me."

"Yes, ma'am," said the auror. "Thank-you very much. Sir."

Harry waved with his potion hand, the only free one he had.

"Will you be nursing that all night?" Daphne asked when they were alone. Her eyes had gone glacial. Harry didn't realize it but that look had kept a dorm full of testosterone-fueled Slytherin boys mindful of their manners regarding her, Tracey and Astoria for close to a decade.

Harry maneuvered the straw back into his mouth and drank, until gurgling sounds rose from the glass. Daphne reached over the edge of the bed and Harry put the glass in her hand. Daphne set the glass down on a bedside stand and took Harry's now-free hand in hers. She stared at him, giving him a good feel for the effects of being on a glacier while stripped to the waist before she spoke.

"Sometimes, Potter, this crap gets handed to you and you don't have any choice. I understand that. It's not like I haven't seen it going all the way back to Professor Quirrell. It's something to be accepted if I want to be Harry Potter's partner."

"Daphne…" Harry tried to start, but Daphne wasn't having it.

"Let me finish," she said, just a bit snappish. "I accept it. I embrace it. I want to stand beside you, and help you, and I'll gladly share your fate just like that voice in my head says, but so help me Merlin and Morgana, Harry Potter, if you go looking for trouble…I'm carrying your child, Potter. I do not want to experience Mariana bringing me down here to find out if I will be raising Iolanthe alone, ever, again! Do you understand me?"

"Daphne, I…" Harry tried again.

"Stop," Daphne ordered, the ice under Harry's feet opening up into a crevasse with a deafening crack. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes," Harry said, a little sigh of regret coming through.

"Good," Daphne said. "We won't speak of it again. Now, I spoke to my colleague outside, and Healer Merlin would like for you to spend the night. He thinks if you just go upstairs and go to bed, they'll check on you once or twice tonight, and with a little luck, the dittany and the immobilization will have you in shape for discharge sometime tomorrow. If you're agreeable, we'll take you to #12. I can apply more dittany twice daily, and Kreacher can see to your food and beverage requirements. You'll be close to St. Mungo's should anything untoward happen, and you'll need to have a few follow-up appointments before you're free of the healers. Will you comply with Healer Merlin's recommendation?"

"I take it, it is your recommendation as well?" Harry asked.

"Certainly," Daphne said. "It's his specialty, he's very well-respected among the healers."

"I want what you want," Harry said. "Just point me in the right direction."

"Good," Daphne said. "I'll speak to my colleague and make the arrangements."

After Healer Merlin released Harry to the magical musculo-skeletal specialists, he was put back on a gurney and transported to a section of St. Mungo's that would have roughly corresponded to an orthopedics unit in the muggle world. Healers and other professionals on the unit were bluff, hearty types who administered potions and went about their tasks with smiles and lots of positive words for their patients. Harry was moved from the gurney to his bed, and Daphne had barely pulled the sheet up over the bandaging that covered his chest and left shoulder before he started dozing off.

The next thing Harry knew, sunshine was making it hard for him to sleep, and someone was calling his name.

"Hmmh?" he said, raising his right hand to shade his eyes.

"Let me get that," said a voice he recognized as Daphne's.

He heard a window shade being pulled, and the direct sunshine disappeared. Able to see again, Harry looked up to see Kingsley Shacklebolt leaning over his bed.

"Minister," Harry said, trying to sit up. Kingsley held out his hand, but he didn't push Harry back down.

"Stay there, Harry," Kingsley said. "Healer Merlin says he can turn you over to Daphne if you can just stay quiet until noon."

"Dittany," Harry said. "What would we do without it?"

"Your colleague, and dittany," Kingsley said. "He had you in here and on a gurney, almost as soon as you hit the ground. No dithering or thinking about what to do. Healer Merlin said he saved you a lot of blood, which will get you back on your feet much faster."

"Yes, Ralph Mann," Harry said. "He's good."

"I thought so, too, Harry," Kingsley said. "Bart and I both think he'd be a good fit for Acting, in your absence."

"In my…" Harry said, before the full meaning got through.

"Oh. How long will I be out?" Harry asked.

"That can't be known, yet," Kingsley said. "Hence the need for an Acting Head Auror."

Harry pondered Kingsley's words.

"Harry," Daphne said, "It does look like you should make a full recovery, so the last thing anyone wants is for you to worry about that, all you need to be thinking of is eating and drinking well, and resting those muscles. You were very lucky, it appears, as there was no damage to bones or major blood vessels. The speed of recovery is the big variable, and that is different for every person."

"I see," Harry said. "Do you want my concurrence?"

"I just wanted to see if you were going to exercise a veto, for some reason," Kingsley said. "It doesn't sound to me like you are."

"No, definitely not," Harry said. "Ralph it is, then. He should do great. Now, Mr. Minister, Daphne and I are still on for the seventh."

"As am I," Kingsley said. "Fabio and Kendra want to host a breakfast for a select few VVIP's, so I'll be there by eight. You'd better do everything you can to be there as well, if you know what's good for you."

Kingsley turned to Daphne.

"I have to get to the Ministry. If you need anything from us, it's approved in advance. Keep me informed. Needless to say, Percy is completely at your disposal."

Daphne smiled at that, and Kingsley smiled back. They both knew Percy.

Ron and Hermione Weasley walked in the room as Kingsley was walking out.

"Damn, Harry," Ron said, "It might have been good to get a little help with that, don't you think?"

"Daphne had some thoughts…" Harry said.

"I rather expect she did," Ron replied. "Hermione shared some with me last night, and I wasn't even there."

Hermione looked at Daphne, who appeared to be exerting some major self-discipline.

"Daphne, have you slept?" Hermione asked.

"A little," Daphne said.

"Let me take you to the cafeteria," Hermione said. "Ron will stay here, won't you, Ron?"

Hermione slipped her arm around Daphne's waist and the two of them went out into the corridor.

"Sure," said Ron, watching them go.

"Going home today, then?" Ron said, turning to Harry.

"Supposed to, if everything goes well. What was that whole thing about, anyway?" Harry asked.

"As I understand it, witches place a high priority on demonstrating empathy," Ron said. "Wizards either lack the capacity for empathy or lack the ability to demonstrate the empathy they do have. The debate is still ongoing. Either way, Hermione feels the need to allow her empathy to demonstrate itself for Daphne, while Daphne feels the reciprocal need to accept Hermione's expression of empathy and somehow return a feeling of empathy received and appreciated. Only then can both go on to other things."

Harry pondered Ron's words.

"Are there any exercises we can do to correct empathy deficiency?" Harry asked.

"Don't know," Ron answered. "You could use your recovery time to see what you can find out, though, couldn't you? I'd buy you a butterbeer if you could give me a synopsis."

Harry and Ron exhausted empathy, and one or two other areas of mutual concern, prior to Daphne and Hermione's return from the cafeteria. As it turned out, Harry was able to be discharged to home that afternoon, taking up residence in the master bedroom suite at #12 Grimmauld Place. Daphne adjusted her hours at St. Mungo's to balance her duties to her patients and patient care at home.

The first week of July arrived, right on time. Harry had not worked out seriously since he was wounded. He had been able to adapt some of his routines to physical therapy for his injured muscles. Healer Glass had turned Harry's case management over to the magical musculo-skeletal specialists, to whom Harry paid unusual deference. Daphne kept apprised of all the current orders and Harry discovered blather to be surprisingly ineffective in finding him a route around any annoyingly restrictive instructions.

Harry's preparations for the wedding were simple. His injury precluded long distance travel and strenuous exercise, so trekking in Switzerland and climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro were out. He suggested, and Daphne agreed, they spend the night of the sixth at Greengrass Manor and join the VVIP breakfast on the morning of the seventh. They'd change between breakfast and the ceremony at ten, get married in the garden, greet everyone at a reception centered on the patio, and leave for The Mill when everyone else had departed.

Daphne pre-staged everything they would need for the wedding. Harry received medical clearance for apparation several days in advance, so they stepped onto the front landing at #12 about noon on the sixth.

"Everything intact?" Daphne asked when they appeared on the apparation point just outside the wards of the manor.

Harry stood still and did a mental check, then reached up with his right hand and gently felt the wound areas with his palm.

"All here," he reported, and walked with Daphne down to the talking gate.

"Hell-OHHHH! Lord Potter-Black and the Honorable, the Healer Miss Daphne, and the prospective Honorable Miss Iolanthe Astoria, all arriving for tomorrow's nuptials!" said the talking gate in greeting.

"You know, a hostile intelligence service could do worse folly than place a listening device right about here," Harry said. "In fact, I might try and induce one to do it. The value of the collections might be dubious, but it would keep a raft of analysts occupied for a generation."

"We also serve, who only sit, and wait, and indulge in a little gossip now and then," replied the gate. "Thank you for noticing."

"All set for tomorrow? You'll be going to work early, as I understand it," asked Harry.

"Not a problem," squeeked the gate. "I could do this in my sleep."

Harry was still pondering the gate's response as he lay in his room that night, waiting for sleep himself.

Daphne had declined to sleep in the same bed with Harry since he was wounded, lest she collide with him as they slept and reinjure him. She had been making do with the armchair in the master bedroom and two hours in bed in the afternoon when Harry would be busy with some exercise in his dojo followed by the dinner Daphne and Kreacher had prepared for his evening meal.

Daphne was still giving Harry a thorough looking over prior to letting him turn in. On the evening of the sixth, however, she declared him officially healed, although with a caveat that while his muscles may have grown back together, they could not be considered to be the same as before his injury. Months of stretching and gradually building up to his previous workload lay ahead. On the positive side, the thick layer of muscle, while seemingly sliced open with ease by the cutting curse, had probably protected bone and blood vessels, and, possibly, his heart, from serious damage.

The course of dittany was long finished.

"How do you feel, Harry?" Daphne asked as they puttered around preparing for bed.

"Fine," he answered. "Some twinges now and then. No real pattern to it. I don't have the strength on that side that I did before, but it does seem to be coming back."

"Do you want company tonight?" Daphne asked.

"Are you being coy with me?" Harry asked, some amusement apparent in his voice. "When have I ever NOT wanted your company?"

"Just checking," Daphne said, with a little echo of Harry's amusement. "May I take a look?"

Daphne tried examining the red lines that might someday be barely-visible bleached scars but wasn't satisfied.

"I need better light," she said, leading Harry into the bathroom. She put the stopper in the tub and started the water. The light really was better in the bathroom, and the tub was still commodious enough for two.

"Here we are, again, magical stag," Daphne said, once they'd gotten settled.

"Where it all began. Who had the foresight to put this tub here?" Harry asked, leaning back.

Whomever it was, a relaxing soak in the commodious tub led to a good night's sleep, although Harry did puzzle over the talking gate's comment about doing its duty, for a good deal longer than the semantic problem deserved.

Harry and Daphne arrived in the sunny room off the patio a few minutes before eight on the morning of the seventh. Daphne wore a floral print dress in shades of green and green flats, while Harry was tie-less, in a cool gray linen suit and a blue button-down shirt, his feet in a pair of moleskin-colored bucks with the traditional red rubber soles. They walked in, Daphne on Harry's right arm, out of deference to his left side, and the VVIP's assembled in the sunny room stood or turned and gave them a round of applause.

Harry would have waded into the scrum and begun shaking hands and dispensing thanks for coming, but Daphne's better sense of the dynamics in the room asserted itself. She pulled Harry to a stop and they both smiled and nodded their thanks to the assembly. When Daphne sensed the greeting had gone on long enough, she gave Harry a little nudge with her arm and headed toward where her parents stood talking to Kingsley Shacklebolt.

Daphne kissed Kendra on the cheek, then hugged Fabio, who held onto her forearms long enough to tell her how beautiful she looked.

"Daphne," Kingsley said, extending his hand. Daphne took it and inclined her head in deference.

"Minister," she said.

Harry finished up his obeisances with the Greengrasses and shook Kingsley's hand.

"Reports getting to me are very favorable, Harry," Kingsley assured him.

"I get the best care, Minister, and it does make a difference," Harry observed.

Kingsley and Fabio drifted away, while Daphne and Harry moved through the sunny room, greeting the close friends and family who had been invited to the VVIP breakfast. They were in conversation with Bill and Fleur Weasley when the sound of silverware on crystal silenced the sunny room. Harry looked around and saw Tracey Davis on an elevated platform along the far wall, standing next to Kingsley.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Tracey announced, "I have the honor to introduce Minister Shacklebolt."

Harry thought that an oddly formal introduction, considering how Kingsley had just been circulating, pressing the flesh in a roomful of people he knew on a first-name basis. He wondered what that portended?

"If I could get Healer Daphne to join me?" Kingsley said. "Our host assures me the dais is sufficiently sturdy for both of us."

Tracey stepped down and handed her spoon and goblet to Trix, while Daphne was working her way to Kingsley's dais. Harry was pretty sure he recognized the planks from the rough table where he and Fabio had laid out the magical survey of the Potter Manor lands. He noticed Percy easing up on Kingsley's side, handing him a piece of parchment.

"Healer Daphne Greengrass, in recognition of extraordinary service to the wizarding community of Britain," Kingsley began, "Performed under challenging conditions, and requiring precision, independent thinking, and mastery of magic to a degree seldom seen, it is my pleasure, and privilege, with the consent by acclamation of the Wizengamot, to present you with this sash, emblematic of membership in the Order of Merlin."

With that, Kingsley took a blue sash from a box Percy had brought to the dais and draped it over Daphne's head. She put her arm through the sash so that it lay on her right shoulder, crossed her torso, and ended in an elaborate rosette at her left hip. A sunburst inset with a complicated "M" graced the sash a few inches down from Daphne's shoulder.

"What's this for?" Daphne whispered behind her hand.

"Grindelwald," Kingsley replied, whispering in her ear.

"Ah!" Daphne said, "So I'll share this with Raffles."

"Ladies and gentlemen, presenting the Honorable, Healer Daphne Greengrass, Order of Merlin," Kingsley finished, just before the applause drowned everything.

Years later, when Harry told the story of that morning, he would still be saying, "That was a memorable breakfast."

The food was superb, as it always was at Greengrass Manor. The invitees for the VVIP breakfast were unusually distinguished. Harry was back from his latest near-death experience, doing very well, considering. And, Daphne, Chief of Service Healer Daphne Alexandra Greengrass, MD, PhD, Order of Merlin First Class, was starring in her own epic fairytale, looking radiant and every bit the distinguished scholar-heroine, in her blue sash.

That was just breakfast.

Daphne called an end to circulating, greeting, hand-shaking and congratulations-accepting at ten past nine. She and Harry hurried upstairs and pulled off their VVIP breakfast attire and started getting into their wedding outfits. Harry took a little longer than normal due to some lingering stiffness, but the three-piece linen suit and tie weren't complicated. Daphne had elected a white linen suit over a Navy blouse and blue and white shoes. She wore a white, wide-brimmed hat. At the last moment, she removed her jacket, put on the sash, and re-donned the jacket.

Harry and Daphne had dispensed with a number of wedding traditions. They'd agreed their cohabitation over the last seven or eight months, and the widely-distributed news of Iolanthe Astoria's anticipated arrival made lots of faux references to the virginal bride, long white wedding gowns, veils and the couple not seeing one another until the ceremony all quite _passe._

"Love the sash, Healer Greengrass, OM," said Harry.

"I'm so glad, Lord Potter-Black, because I am going to enjoy the heck out of wearing it today," Daphne answered. "Now what are you going to do? I'm catching up."

"Oh, Daphne," Harry said, shaking his head, "You have been so far ahead of me for so long. I can never catch up to you."

"You saved me from Grindelwald," Daphne protested.

"You saved the world from Grindelwald," Harry came back. "Are we ready?"

"Looks like it," Daphne said.

They walked down the stairs, down the hall past the library and Fabio's study, to the sunny room. The guests had been cleared out and were seated under a marquee in the garden. Teddy and Tracey were waiting.

Teddy started clapping when they got to the sunny room. Daphne put her arm around him and gave him a kiss.

"Thank-you, Teddy," she said. "You've made my day."

Tracey saved Teddy from developing terminal blushing by slipping her arm under his. She leaned over and spoke softly in his ear.

"This is what we call Show Time, Teddy! March me down that aisle like you mean it."

Teddy appeared to swell into his adult form, even though, at eleven, he still should have had some growing ahead. Harry wondered if he'd been working on his metamorphmagus skills in preparation.

Teddy did march Tracey down the aisle like he meant it. The size difference wasn't that great, and Harry caught himself before observing for Daphne that 'They look good together.'

Harry and Daphne waited for Teddy and Tracey to reach the halfway point and stepped off. Fabio had walked Astoria to the altar and had found it harder than he'd anticipated. As a result, he was not at all interested in a second turn so soon after the first, and when Daphne suggested she and Harry just walk up and present themselves to the officiant, Fabio happily agreed.

Kingsley, always deeper and more layered than most people credited, had attended seminary between his magical training and joining the aurors. He'd explained it all to Harry and Daphne when they'd met to discuss the wedding weeks earlier. He had actually been ordained in the established Church, but had never held a full-time appointment, hence the need to make his own way in the world. He was still devoted to the prayer book, and the three had agreed on a slightly modified traditional order for the ceremony.

Harry endowed Daphne with all his worldly goods, which promoted her from an Honorable to Lady Potter-Black. Daphne promised to love, honor and cherish Harry, 'obeying' being long out of fashion, besides being highly questionable in their case. Teddy had Daphne's wedding ring ready right on time, and Harry added some more enchanted platinum to Daphne's left ring finger.

When cued by Kingsley, they demonstrated a reasonably chaste kiss for the assembled.

Kingsley laid his hands on their shoulders and looked out at the congregation.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "Please join me in being the first to welcome to our community Harry and Daphne, Lord and Lady Potter-Black."


	7. Chapter 7

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Seven

Harry and Iolanthe

Following a few days' honeymoon at The Mill, Harry and Daphne returned to their London lives and professional responsibilities. Harry was exercising daily, some of his routines prescribed by the healer rehabilitation specialists, and some of his own devising. He made himself available to Ralph Mann and Bart Fudge, but consciously scheduled his appearances in the office to minimize disruption. He had packed up his personal items, over Ralph's objections. When he found that Ralph hadn't ordered new stationery, he put the order in, but kept his involvement to himself.

No one knew, other than Harry and Daphne, but Harry was not feeling his old verve. His workouts went well, but something was missing on his left side. His strength was slowly coming back. What puzzled him was lack of feeling across his upper left quadrant and down his arm to below the elbow. He had control of his hand, but with an overlay of tingling and loss of touch for fine motions with his fingers.

"It has to be nerve damage," Daphne said. "Do you want to see a specialist? I think they'll tell you to do what you're doing and wait for the feeling to come back. It usually does. If you want to see someone, I can set it up."

Harry dithered, thinking one day he needed to consult with a professional, then the next, convincing himself his hand felt much more normal than it had just the day before. Either way, his rehabilitation did not come close to absorbing his waking hours, so he found himself casting about for interesting projects.

Post-wedding administration kept him busy for a week. Magical families, especially old ones of means, were subject to all manner of law and regulation, and when those were satisfied, tradition stood waiting. Harry requested a meeting with Whetstone, who was managing the Potter and Black enterprises held in trust, to sit down with Daphne for an authoritative overview of what were now their joint holdings.

When the day of the meeting arrived, Daphne floo'd to her study from St. Mungo's. Harry heard what he thought was the WHOOSH of an arrival and stood outside the study, preparing to knock. The door opened, and there stood Daphne, just a tiny bit of soot on her cheek, Walburga Black looking on adoringly.

"Daphne," Harry said.

"Harry," said Daphne.

"POTTER!" exclaimed Walburga Black's portrait. "You wasted no time working your wiles on this fine Slytherin witch, I see."

"Madame, how are you today?" Harry asked. "Always a pleasure. Thank you for your good wishes. This," he said, patting Daphne's slightly-visible baby bump, "is your Aunt Dorea's great-granddaughter, Iolanthe Astoria, who will be raised to proudly claim her Black heritage in this very house. Won't all three of us feel lucky if she should become another fine Slytherin witch?"

Walburga kept her counsel, although she did feel obligated to sniff dismissively before appearing to drift back to sleep.

"You enjoy that too much, Potter," Daphne said when they were out in the hall with the door closed.

"Maybe," Harry said. "I like to see it as laying the foundation for a healthy portrait-infant relationship. You'll let me know if I'm encroaching on your professional domain."

"Count on it," Daphne said. "Now, do we apparate to Diagon Alley? Your apparation point by the flat?"

"Not today," Harry said. "There's another way I go for business."

Harry led the way to the big living room fireplace and took a generous pinch of floo powder. When he and Daphne were both in, he dropped the powder and said, "Gringotts One."

Harry was surprised to see Whetstone waiting in the paneled room that served as the terminus for Gringotts secure floo travelers. He had assumed they would be exiting into the lobby area and making their way from there.

"Lord Potter-Black, and Lady Potter-Black, welcome to Gringotts," Whetstone said. "Right this way, please."

Whetstone led the way back into the boardroom whence Harry had come when he was first shown the secure floo by Ragnak, Gringotts chairman. Harry was pondering how the boardroom had displaced the corridor as the route to Whetstone's office, or a smaller meeting room, when Whetstone opened the door and stood aside.

Ragnak waited just inside the boardroom, which was nearly full of goblins, and a few humans, like Bill Weasley, who worked for Gringotts. The great table was filled with flower arrangements, a serious buffet, a great bowl of punch, and trays of madeleines, biscotti, and mints.

"Lord and Lady Potter-Black, let me be the first at Gringotts to congratulate you and wish you many, many happy years together. We've taken a small liberty, since you gave us the opportunity, to arrange for some food and beverages for you and your Gringotts family, to celebrate."

"Mr. Chairman," said Harry, "We are so honored. We want to meet everyone and shake every hand, but I sense members of staff have been waiting and looking at this beautiful luncheon, so I propose we begin."

Whether that was what Ragnak had in mind was never really clear after Harry's comment, because the goblins pushed forward and began filling plates. Harry and Daphne stood in an out-of-the-way spot several feet back from the table, giving rise to an impromptu receiving line. Someone brought them plates they could manage standing up. Harry didn't know how Daphne would react to the goblins' customary blood-rare chunks of meat and raw root vegetables, but she gave the impression it was her regular diet, complimenting Ragnak on this or that item in between handshakes.

Goblins like eating, but typically don't waste a lot of time over meals. It wasn't long before goblins were putting plates down on kitchen carts and making their way to Harry and Daphne to convey best wishes and take their leave.

When the last of the staff departed, Harry turned to Ragnak and Whetstone.

"That was completely unexpected, and most memorable. Thank-you for your consideration," Harry said, while Daphne nodded in agreement.

"Gringotts was glad to do it," Ragnak said. "The prospect of a staff revolt if we did not recognize your nuptials had nothing to do with the decision, I assure you."

Harry never knew for sure with goblins, but he got the impression Ragnak was making a joke. It was a pretty good joke, too, for a goblin.

"Now, I'll have to get back to some other things, so I'll turn you over to my very capable associate. Madame," Ragnak said, taking Daphne's offered hand and bending over it in something like a kissing posture.

"This way, Sir, and Madame," Whetstone said.

The smaller meeting room was commodious enough. Whetstone saw Daphne looking at the stack of parchment and folders.

"This will take some time, but if you have other commitments, or simply require a little break, that is perfectly understandable," Whetstone said. "Just let me know."

The first document was the bank's copy of the marital agreement, that had been the cause of Harry and Daphne's first meeting in the bank. Gringotts was due a fee for its services in the administration of the contract. Harry took care of his and Fabio's obligations, just to have the matter closed. Daphne saw him staring at James Potter's signature, just beneath one of the red wax seals, and put her arm around his shoulders.

"Okay?"

Harry didn't say anything, but he nodded his head Yes.

The Potter enterprises broke down into three categories. The agricultural land around the Potter Manor, most of which was rented, was one. The second was the goblin-operated mines, which didn't generate vast profits but were very stable, year to year. The third was the investments he'd learned about at the meeting the previous fall. Most of those were fairly ordinary, common stock issues anyone could buy on the market. One was different. Harry learned he still received a minority share of the profits from Skelegrow, a preparation discovered by a potioneer ancestor who had had the good sense to hang on to a percentage of the corporation that produced the potion.

Collectively, the holdings gave witness to the efforts of generations of Potters, and the members of his family tree who had married into the Potters, to manage their assets carefully, and conservatively, thinking ahead and eschewing riotous living. The Potters had also been lucky, it appeared, in that no wastrel Potters had been born who undid the work of generations in one lifetime.

The Blacks, as could be anticipated, had lost much of their wealth by the time Sirius was killed, due to backing losing political horses, legal costs stemming from settling too many disputes by resorting to violence, and the lack of heirs with any sort of business sense.

Real estate had proven to be the Black salvation. For whatever reason, the Blacks had managed to prioritize hanging onto #12 Grimmauld Place, a unique magical property in the heart of London, and to the Black estate in Cornwall. Harry had made one brief visit to the estate. He knew he and Daphne could do a lot with it, and have fun while they were at it, but one thing after another had intervened. Harry was thinking, while Whetstone was droning on about the attributes of the property, if they put their minds to it, life for the Potters could become one long, drawn-out progress from London to Devon, to London, to Cornwall, world without end, amen.

"Harry?" Daphne's voice broke his reverie.

"Sorry," Harry said. "The Black estate looked charming when I visited, but I need to go back and get to know it better."

"We'll do that, but we've moved along. Now, I listened to your inventory, so you'll be listening to mine," Daphne explained.

"Oh, well, then…" Harry said and by some miracle, thought better of finishing with, "can't wait."

Daphne's fortune turned out to be every bit as quirky as Harry's. Greengrass Manor was the minority of Fabio's landholdings. He also owned farmland that was rented out, and most years the crops made money. In addition, the Greengrass family had been international traders for generations, building up businesses that imported and exported all manner of magical commodities. Daphne and Astoria had minority shares in all of the Greengrass enterprises, except for the manor and the attached lands. Those would remain in Fabio's hands exclusively as long as he was alive, when they would pass to Daphne, or, if she were deceased, her oldest child. Only if Daphne were deceased without children would the manor pass intact to Astoria or her descendants.

Harry must have appeared puzzled by the detailed chain of custody because Daphne leaned over and said, "It's medieval," which seemed a logical explanation for what was actually quite illogical.

Eventually, the process of itemizing Daphne's accounts, investments and sources of income came to an end. Harry had considered inviting Daphne to dine at the Leaky Cauldron, given their presence in Diagon Alley, but didn't really feel up to it by the time they finished. Daphne didn't look like she was eager for some more time away from home, either, so when Whetstone returned them to the little room with the secure floo, Harry just said, "Home?"

"Merlin, I guess so," Daphne said.

"You take us back," Harry said.

"Grimmauld Place," Daphne said as she dropped the floo powder.

There was a brief 'WHOOSH' before they stepped out of the fireplace in Daphne's study.

"Thought so," Harry said. "If you give the destination, we come here.

"Kreacher…"

"Kreacher is here, Lord Harry," said the elf, dipping even more deeply into the available heraldry.

"Kreacher, could you bring us a pitcher of ice water, two tumblers, and some lemon wedges? And two hot towels, if you please. We encountered some soot in the floo system. Not everyone is as skilled as you in keeping their section clean."

"Of course, Lord Harry," Kreacher said, disapparating.

Harry rolled his eyes, causing Daphne to execute an emergency laugh stifling just as Kreacher apparated in the study with the ice water.

"The towels are steaming," Kreacher said, disapparating and returning almost immediately.

"Mmmm…peppermint!" Harry said, inhaling the steam as he held the towel over his face. "Perfect."

Kreacher collected the towels and disapparated. Harry closed and locked the door, then cast _muffliato_ so they could speak freely.

"Harry, what's with the secret floo address? I didn't know that was there, and I've been banking at Gringotts all my life," Daphne asked, taking and holding the floor.

"Fabio probably knows all about it. He's just the kind of person they'd want to use it. I was asked to come and go via the little room for security reasons. Head Auror, a little personal wealth…"

"A little?" Daphne asked. "And I'm pretty sure Father doesn't know."

"Ragnak mentioned kidnapping. They don't want me snatched on the steps of Gringotts," said Harry.

Daphne was at a loss for words, it appeared.

"Right about now," Harry said, "You're asking yourself, 'What have I gone and done?'"

"Harry Potter," Daphne said with a little snicker, "I know good and well what I've gone and done. I just didn't know I'd gone quite so far down that road. With all your time in the Ministry and experience with the aurors, you don't grasp the significance of granting you access to that system?

"That is Ministerial-level security, Harry. Ragnak didn't authorize that on his own. I expect you could floo directly into Kingsley's private office from that room. There were rumors about a parallel, secure floo system but it's never acknowledged. You're being discussed Harry, if you were given access. It is expected you will occupy positions of great responsibility. You didn't know all this?"

"I'd never heard of it until the day of our meeting," Harry said. "Are you sure it's that big of a deal? Ragnak didn't swear me to secrecy or anything."

"Yes, it's a very big deal," Daphne said. "I have to say, you get more interesting with each passing day."

"Ah. Okay, then," Harry said. "Moving along, it appears we are rich, Lady Daphne. What do you propose we do about that? I don't fancy a life of gilded sloth."

"You are correct," said Daphne, becoming serious. "I've always been comfortable, but other than the manor Father and Mother don't put on a show, and I get my tastes in pretty much everything from them. Plus, I got my professional qualifications to do something I love to do, and I don't fancy leaving that behind. Any ideas?"

Harry leaned back and looked at the ceiling.

"I think," he said, "They're going to have to make Ralph Mann's appointment permanent. Or, they could pick someone else, of course. They need a Head Auror. I'm not coming back the way I thought I would. I won't be fit for duty and they'll have to transfer me to the reserve force while I do rehab. Ralph is doing a fine job. He deserves his chance."

"Oh, Harry," Daphne said, "I'm so sorry. You love your job. Tell me what to do and I'll do it, is there some therapy you want to try?"

"The last few weeks have given me some time to think," Harry said. "That's a rare commodity for working people. I think I love being Head Auror. I'm not sure I love my job. It doesn't feel very challenging, not like it did when I first started. I can always go back on patrol, or be a shift supervisor. Lots of people do that when they get tired of the office routine. We just learned the amount of my pension checks are not of great concern.

"I want to get started on a house for one thing. Then there is the Black estate. Iolanthe Astoria," Harry continued. "And rehab. I won't feel right until I feel the way I did before that curse got through my block."

"Even so," Harry continued, "A lifetime of those kinds of activities wouldn't dent our holdings, even if I never added a single knut, and I can't see measuring my life's work in terms of vaults of gold added to the Potter hoard. It gets redundant after awhile, don't you think?"

"Did you mean what you said about Iolanthe Astoria being a fine Slytherin witch?" Daphne asked.

"Of course!" Harry exclaimed. "If she's happy in her house, that's where she'll belong. If the hat puts her in Slytherin, that's just Black, Davis and Greengrass coming to the surface. With those genes she'll probably own the place by her first Christmas break, wherever the hat puts her," Harry concluded.

"Well," Daphne said, stifling a yawn, "We won't decide it now. Some of us have to go to work in the morning. Take the pitcher and glasses back for Kreacher. It's good therapy."

Harry scheduled meetings with Ralph Mann, Bart Fudge, and Kingsley Shacklebolt as soon as they could see him. He told them all the same thing—his rehabilitation would take longer than anticipated and they should make plans accordingly.

"I may have some things coming up, Harry," Kingsley said. "You'll check in from your beach now and then?"

Harry, intrigued by the open-ended '…some things coming up…' assured Kingsley he'd keep him apprised of whatever beach he was visiting, right after he told Daphne.

Iolanthe Astoria and Daphne continued to come along without complications. Daphne and the midwife made some changes to Harry and Daphne's suite at Greengrass Manor, and Daphne moved to the manor the third week of November. There, she spent much of her time on a chaise in the sunny room, receiving a stream of witches who came bringing flowers, fruit baskets and baby supplies. Iolanthe Astoria arrived on the first of December, with her father, aunt and namesake, and grandmother in attendance. She bestowed smiles on all, performing like a Gryffindor, tolerating well the passing from arms to arms and back again, for two hours and a little more, then fell into a deep sleep. Six hours later, she woke up, well-rested and enthusiastic.

"I've got her," Harry said, getting up from his rocking chair.

"Get me to the chair, then bring her to me," Daphne said.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked.

"Harry…" Daphne answered.

"Okay, here…" Harry said as he gave Daphne his arm.

"I needed to stand up anyway," she said. "Nature made us to give birth on the savannah, get our breath back, and go catch up with the band."

"What possible relevance?" Harry began as he lifted Iolanthe from her layette.

Then Harry noticed his daughter had freed her arm from the swaddling and he held her up to ask her what she thought she was doing. Iolanthe reached out and touched Harry's face, giving him a big smile of recognition.

"Oh, she knows me already, look at that!" Harry said.

"Harry. Baby?" Daphne said, pulling her top aside. "And you can hand me a towel from that pile there. I expect I'll be needing it."

"Look, Daphne, she wants to pull my lip off! She's so strong!" Harry enthused.

A soft knock sounded on the door to the hallway.

"Come in," Daphne and Harry said together.

Astoria looked through the cracked door.

"Is she awake?" she asked Harry.

"Sure, come on in," Harry said.

The door opened, and Astoria entered the room, followed closely by Kendra and Tracey.

Harry looked at Daphne, seeking instructions. None were forthcoming. Clearly out of place in the room full of witches, Harry slipped out into the hall and headed downstairs. He thought about the library, but decided on the sunny room, despite the lack of sun, and a pot of tea. He was in luck. Fabio lay back in the chaise, Daily Prophet in hand, tea cup at the ready.

"Any chance we can get Trix to bring us a pot of tea?" Harry asked.

"Of course, and how about something to eat? You've been on duty for hours. Trix?" Fabio said.

Fabio and Trix soon had Harry fixed up with tea and a tuna sandwich.

"How is she?" Fabio asked.

"Both just perfect," Harry replied. "The room's full of witches watching her eat right now, but we might get an audience, if we're patient."

"What's next?" Fabio asked.

"Daphne wants to spend a week right here. I'm still exercising, so this is as good as anyplace for running. I can go to London for gym time. She has maternity leave at St. Mungo's, but my guess is with me to deploy for Iolanthe care, she'll feel the gravity from her patients," said Harry.

Kendra entered the sunny room.

"Fabio, your granddaughter is receiving visitors," Kendra said.

"The Honorable Miss Iolanthe Astoria? That granddaughter? Then I'd better go see how she is," Fabio said as he got up from the chaise.

"What do you think of her?" Harry asked.

"Why, she's perfect, of course," said Kendra.

"I thought so too," Harry confirmed. "I sort-of predicted to Walburga that she might be a little Slytherin witch someday."

"Yes, so I heard," Kendra said.

"It was more foreshadowing," said Harry. "Along the lines of idle speculation. Just raising the possibility for Walburga to consider. She did just try to rip my lip off with a big smile on her face the whole time, if that is indicative."

Tracey and Astoria arrived in the sunny room and began reciting the standard baby visitor verses.

"Beautiful…"

"Eyes…"

"Strong…"

"Happy…"

"Mmm-hm, SO happy…"

Harry waited for an opening, not wanting to spoil the fun.

"Go check…" he just managed to wedge in, between "Toes" and "Perfect, little pink pearls!"

Fabio as sitting on the bed holding Iolanthe when Harry got back to Daphne's room.

"What do you think?" Harry asked. "She has a lot more personality already, doesn't she?"

"Couldn't say," Fabio replied. "She gave me one good look and her eyes started to close. At least I don't scare her."

"How are you?" Harry asked Daphne. "Besides tired, which I can see for myself."

"Fine," Daphne said. "Can you walk me? Just out and up and down the hall. A little time upright and moving helps things get back to normal. Father, can we lay her down? I promise you another turn."

Miss Iolanthe Astoria's first week on the planet followed the age-old routine for newborns—eat, sleep, get passed around, get changed. One item stood out.

Harry began taking Iolanthe for little walks outside her room, initially staying on the second floor. When Iolanthe was three days old, Tracey walked Daphne downstairs and out to the sunny room. Harry brought Iolanthe down, one hand on the hand rail, and Iolanthe in the crook of his arm, against his chest. As they walked past the library, Harry spotted Fabio and Kendra inside, so he took Iolanthe in as a little diversion. He walked her around the room showing her the windows and the odds and ends that hung on the wall. Iolanthe's eyes were everywhere. Suddenly, Iolanthe began to scream.

"What?" Harry said. "Did you want to go back?"

He walked back the way they'd come. Iolanthe saw a plaque with the Slytherin crest, and began to smile. Harry, Fabio and Kendra all told the same story, and no one ever got them to budge.

Harry held her up so she could see clearly. Iolanthe smiled as she looked at the plaque, with its silver serpent.

"Sy-OSS-…," she said, plain as day.


	8. Chapter 8

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Eight

The Reign of Iolanthe

Harry and Iolanthe Astoria stood before the plaque with the Slytherin House crest discussing the snake.

"Snake!" Iolanthe would say.

"What does the snake say?" Harry asked.

"Sssssss…" Iolanthe replied.

"That's right, the snake says 'Ssssss…' doesn't it?" Harry confirmed.

Then Iolanthe would say 'Snake!' once more, and Harry would ask what the snake says.

"Harry," came a voice from behind them both.

Harry turned and saw Kendra, who looked very normal except her face was drained of color.

"She's a prodigy," Harry said, tucking Iolanthe against his chest. "How'd she learn to say 'snake?' Tomorrow we'll find out she can read."

"What's going on?"

Daphne stood in the doorway, Tracey just behind her.

"Come and see," Harry said. Tracey and Daphne walked over to where Harry and Iolanthe stood before the wall plaque. Harry turned back and faced the wall again.

Iolanthe smiled and said, "Sy-OSS…"

Harry spoke to his daughter. "Snake!"

"Harry, what are you doing?" Tracey asked. "That sounds like parseltongue."

"We were just talking. She can say 'snake.' Three days old and she recognized a snake."

"Let's sit down, shall we?" Kendra suggested. Tracey steered Daphne toward the couch. Daphne sat down and reached out for Iolanthe. Harry put her in Daphne's arms.

"Want to go to Mum? Do you want Mum to hold you?" he asked, switching to English.

Iolanthe gave Harry a big smile but didn't say anything.

Kendra looked at Daphne.

"Have you had a case of this?"

"Never," said Daphne. "There are published reports, but they're all pretty old, so reliability is always an issue. Harry, how did you learn parseltongue?"

"I didn't learn it," Harry said. "I just discovered it by accident, chatting up a boa in the zoo. Then I talked to that one that Draco sicced on me in dueling club, you may remember. I talked it out of striking, although no one believed me at the time. I have to be talking to a snake, or it doesn't happen.

"Iolanthe is pretty good, isn't she? Did you hear her?"

"Yes, Harry, we all heard her, and you, discussing that plaque in parseltongue," Daphne said, a little worry and confusion in her voice.

Harry didn't have a response. He wasn't aware they'd been speaking parseltongue. He thought he and Iolanthe were just talking about the snake.

"Sometimes," Harry sighed, 'it's not obvious to me that I've switched. When I've talked to actual snakes, I hear the English words, but people standing around tell me I was speaking some kind of snake language, all S and Ahh and Y sounds. I'm not even aware.

"Well, it won't hurt her, will it? Of course, we'll want her to learn some English, for road signs and whatnot."

"Harry!" Daphne said. Tracey tried valiantly, but couldn't hold in the great whoop that was her comment on Harry's observation and Daphne's reaction, and Fabio joined her immediately. Even Kendra braved Daphne's disapproving look.

"I think," Harry said, "She has inherited the ability, from somewhere. It's a mysterious trait. The Gaunts were the last family that I know of that used it among themselves. Tom Riddle discovered on his own that he could talk to snakes. He never knew his mother, so her teaching him couldn't have been a factor. Anyone can have a connection with a distant ancestor who passed it down. Maybe it's one of those dominant/recessive arrangements like in genetics. Two parents give you the gene, boom, parselmouth. Are you sure we were speaking in parseltongue? Because it sounded to me like she was saying 'Snake' loud and clear."

Iolanthe looked up at Daphne.

"Sy-OSS?" she asked.

"Do you want to see the snake?" Harry asked.

"That was parseltongue," Daphne reported.

Harry got up and lifted the plaque off the wall. He showed it to Iolanthe.

"Sy-OSS," Iolanthe said, smiling.

Harry thought about going to the garden and trying to call up any snakes that might be patrolling the beds and compost piles, but changed his mind when he remembered it was December, and outdoor reptiles would be hibernating.

"I predict, when spring comes, we're going to find out she has fans. They'll all want to come and meet her when the word gets out. Meanwhile, if she goes off on some parseltongue diatribe, ask her to hold it until I get there. I'll translate it for her.

"Such a genius, aren't you?" Harry said, holding up the plaque and kneeling down in front of Daphne. "What's this?"

"Sy-OSS," Iolanthe said, giggling.

Harry, as it turned out, was right. When the ground warmed up in the spring, small garden snakes were surprisingly abundant, and were sighted often when Daphne took Iolanthe to Fabio's gardens. Harry enjoyed walking in the garden with Iolanthe and Daphne because he could translate.

A typical encounter went like this:

Iolanthe would see a snake, and point it out with a "Sy-OSS" to which the snake might say, "The rumors are true, there is one here who speaks our language."

Harry would translate for Daphne.

"Oh, another one," the snake would say. "Who are you?"

"Harry Potter," Harry would reply.

"I've heard of you, but never thought I'd meet you. Is that one yours?" the snake would ask.

"Yes," Harry would reply in parseltongue, "And this is her mother."

"And she can't speak," the snake would say. "Our language, that is."

"True, but she isn't prejudiced," Harry would add, just to clarify. "Do you want to meet Iolanthe?"

"Could I?" the snake might ask. "Once in a lifetime, if ever…"

"Come on up," Harry offered, kneeling and laying his hand on the ground. Daphne always started to get queasy at that point, but she had a spine, and more than enough fighting spirit, and didn't object.

Iolanthe always smiled at the snakes and gave them some coo's along with calling them by their name in their own language. She invariably extended her hand, and the snakes, who couldn't exactly kiss her hand, leaned close and gave the back a little tickle with their snake tongues.

Daphne searched the literature, but the research on parselmouth humans was both sparse and questionable. The articles she found were primarily from the first half of the twentieth century. Scientific rigor was not a strong factor in magical publications then. Most magicians thought Newton had done them all a real disservice with his careful observations, and measurements, and revolutionary mathematical formulas for calculating orbits and the center of gravity for paired objects.

"What's magical about that?" some traditionalists wanted to know.

That attitude continued to affect magical thinking in the centuries since, and witches, wizards and squibs who had magical awareness pursued science knowing their magical brethren viewed them with suspicion, or at least skepticism.

In the weeks after Iolanthe Astoria's birth, Harry got serious about his project to build a house for Potter Manor. Magical architecture design and technique enabled magical builders to use a vast catalog of styles, materials and construction methods. Harry started by listing requirements for his immediate family. He gave his list to Daphne and asked her to edit it with corrections or additions for things he left out.

The limestone quarry on the property still had plenty of material left for a house. It was of a type that worked well for cladding of exteriors and as pavers for patios, walkways and floors. Daphne sketched some ideas for layouts and exteriors and sent them to Fabio to offer him the chance to put his design talents to work. Fabio added detail and prepared drawings architects call elevations, showing the designs in the setting on top of the hill, looking down towards the Dart.

Harry looked at Daphne's drawings and was taken by surprise by the number of bedrooms and baths. He asked her who they would be putting up. All Daphne said was, "I need my witches around me."

Harry estimated his chances of finding out more at close to zero, so he dropped it. In time, Daphne's witches would show up for the weekend, and then he'd know.

Fabio introduced Harry to the owner of a magical general contracting firm that he knew and respected. Even with magic the project was expected to take a full year to complete. Harry didn't mind. They had some other properties that needed their presence.

One of those was the Cornwall estate he had inherited from Sirius. Harry managed to get Bill Weasley to take a day trip with him to Cornwall and walk the property. The property wasn't burdened by any curses, but the wards the Blacks had set were formidable, and tricky. Harry brought the signet ring he'd always been too cautious to wear for fear it was cursed. He used his wand to hold the ring at a few inches distance. At the front door, Harry maneuvered the ring into contact with the lock, and was rewarded with a loud 'CLUNK.'

Inside, in the foyer, Harry turned back to the door and laid his wand alongside the lock. Most magical locks had the ability to recognize wands and associate them with a person, such as the property owner, or some other person authorized by the property owner, and permit them to pass through. Harry waited a bit then exited, closing the door behind him. He counted to ten and tried using the wand. The door opened.

Bill and Harry walked through the house, Bill probing for any anti-intruder spells, then trading places with Harry for follow-up. Other than the wards, which were complex and incorporated a concealment-from-muggles charm, the house was otherwise unprotected. The interior was very different from the mess Sirius, and later Harry, had inherited at #12 Grimmauld Place. The Blacks had not felt the need to create the same atmosphere of ancient gloom in Cornwall, apparently, for the house had plenty of windows and an actual color palette, albeit one that even Harry recognized was at minimum forty years out of date.

Once the property was pronounced curse-free by Bill Weasley, Harry felt comfortable bringing Daphne and Iolanthe for a visit. They packed some water and a bag of baby necessities and apparated to Cornwall on a perfect June day. Harry walked up to the front door holding Iolanthe against his left side. His wand unlocked the door.

"Now we know that works," Harry said to Daphne.

As they toured the house, Daphne made notes for future projects. The furniture was mostly bound for the trash. Some armoires and cupboards were declared keep-worthy, pending verification of their age and origin. Paint needed updating, and the woodwork was due for stripping and refinishing. No one had ever wired the place for electricity, a muggle innovation that many magicals found to be highly overrated. Harry and Daphne both felt they could live their Cornwall lives just fine without it, given the fact that they had wands. The one infrastructure project both deemed critical was improvement of the plumbing and water supply. A few weeks of work, properly organized, would result in a very livable country seat for Lord and Lady Potter-Black, with room for the lot of Black family and associates.

As Harry and Daphne walked through the house, they spoke to the portraits they encountered, greeting subjects by name if they recognized them, introducing themselves and Iolanthe if they didn't. The ubiquitous Phineas Nigellas featured in two portraits, one on the ground floor and one on the second. He woke up when Harry called his name, greeting the family effusively and welcoming them to the Black estate. Iolanthe delighted a dining room filled with Black grandees when she spotted a snake in one portrait and called out, "Sy-OSS!"

Harry and Daphne weren't quite as pleased with her the next time she used her parseltongue. While taking a little breather on a marble bench in the overgrown garden, Daphne put Iolanthe's blanket down on some grass and let her sit. Harry and Daphne talked through their home inspection tour room by room, discussing what they'd like to do in each one.

"Sy-OSS!" Iolanthe called out, and Harry looked around for one of the little garden snakes. The adder crawling across Iolanthe Astoria's chubby baby legs was not at all what he expected.

Daphne would have shouted, or screamed, but Harry anticipated her and reached for her arm, which he squeezed, hard. He shook his head slightly, then addressed the snake.

"Hello, brother," he said. "You've come to a family picnic."

"Yes-s-s," said the adder. "You wouldn't have invited me so I thought I would pay a brief courtesy call. Your visit caused great excitement. We wondered when you would come back and bring her to see us. The clan has-s-s talked of little else s-s-since."

"Here she is," Harry said. "You'll keep your fangs away from her, won't you?"

"There is a prophecy, s-s-s-o very old it is unattributed, of a human hatchling who will be our protector. The s-s-s-sign of her coming is the hatchling will s-s-s-speak our s-s-s-sacred tongue from birth."

The adder raised its head and looked at Iolanthe.

"Sy-OSS!" said Iolanthe.

Daphne caught her breath at the adder's movement. Iolanthe giggled and held out her hand, which the adder touched with its tongue.

"Brother, I will leave now. You have nothing to fear from the s-s-snakes," said the adder before crawling off into the grass.

The adder had barely left when Daphne started.

"That's it, we're never coming back until you've had this place cleaned out of snakes. Even I could see that was an adder. Thank Merlin nothing happened."

"I don't know about that," Harry said, clearly puzzled. "Your daughter, Iolanthe Astoria, is the subject of a prophecy among the snakes. Maybe it's more accurate to say there is a prophecy among the snakes, and Iolanthe Astoria exhibits the sign the snakes were given, so now the snakes think their benefactor has arrived. The adder called her their protector."

"Harry, we can't have adders just coming up and introducing themselves," Daphne fairly shouted. "Prophecy or no prophecy."

"It's starting to make a little more sense," Harry said. "Ever since the first one came up to us in the spring, it has seemed to me like they are making some kind of obeisance. She holds out her hand and all the snakes touch it with their tongues. They both seem delighted by it. Have you noticed?"

"Adders, Harry!" Daphne argued.

"Well, there are hardly any adders left anyway," Harry said. "Let them come and say hello. I have it on good authority we have nothing to fear from the snakes."

Little by little, Harry took bits from a dozen or more parseltongue conversations and constructed a mosaic of what Iolanthe Astoria meant for the snakes. Snakes were always thrilled just to discover a parselmouth human because those were so rare. In Iolanthe's case, the excitement was multiplied many times due to the prophecy that had come down about a human hatchling that would speak parseltongue and be a protector of the snakes, who, truthfully, had had a very difficult time with humans for at least as far back as humanity's very oldest tales.

By late summer, Iolanthe was asking to hold adult fingers in her tiny fists and go for short lurching walks on Fabio's garden paths. Harry loved walking her around the beds. Whenever a little snake crossed the path, Iolanthe would call out "Sy-OSS!" and the snake would turn and wait. Harry would kneel and hold Iolanthe on his knee, then reach down and give the snake a lift up to say hello.

Daphne discussed the situation with witches whom she trusted to keep it confidential. Although very unusual, none saw any harm. After all, an adder had assured Harry they had nothing to fear. Hermione listened and said she thought it was just Harry and Iolanthe sharing quality time, albeit in an activity that didn't have strong appeal for most witches and wizards.

The last snake they saw that year appeared during the second week in October. It was an unseasonably warm and pleasant day, more suited to July or August.

"Sy-OSS!" Iolanthe called. Harry knelt down and let the little snake crawl onto his hand.

Iolanthe held out her hand to the snake, who touched it with his tongue.

"Get to the den with the others," Iolanthe said, in parseltongue. "The cold is coming."

"My queen," replied the snake, giving Iolanthe a snake nod. Harry put his hand down and the little guy slithered off into a bed.

Harry looked at Iolanthe.

"Da-da!" she said as she reached up and grabbed a handful of his hair.

"Yes," Harry confirmed. "Da-da."

Harry had imposed on Fabio for some guidance on planting the beds in the townhouse garden behind #12 Grimmauld Place. He had pulled out all the dead stalks, which made room for some struggling perennials to get a little sunshine, and they were doing quite well. The cleaning up process did not reveal any snake activity. Even without snakes, though, Iolanthe Astoria was proving Harry right and toddling around the garden as she approached her first birthday. The short brick walls of the first row of stepped beds made perfect handholds for pulling up and balancing while Iolanthe got ready to take her first solo steps.

Fabio had given Harry some good recommendations for plants that tolerated the shady conditions in the garden, and Iolanthe liked the pungent odors of some of the herbs.

Harry and Iolanthe were bundled up for a fall outing in the townhouse garden one morning. Daphne was at St. Mungo's but was expected back at mid-day for her lunch and Iolanthe's when Kreacher came outside.

"Minister Shacklebolt, Lord Harry," Kreacher said. Harry looked up to see that Kingsley had followed Kreacher through the house and out to the garden. He stood up and extended his hand.

"Minister, welcome to #12. Iolanthe and I are taking the air. Would you like to sit down or come inside?"

"This is fine, Harry," Kingsley said. "What a beautiful garden. How do you get the plants to look this way so late in the year?"

"Technique and plant selection. We start them inside, then transplant them. The temperature hasn't dropped below freezing. Geraniums keep blooming until that happens. The ornamental kale likes it cool. They give us some color. Did you come to see Iolanthe?" Harry asked.

"That's a perfect reason to come by," Kingsley said. "Starting right now."

"Coffee, tea, something else?" Harry asked.

"There isn't time today, to be honest. Actually I'd like you to come in, tomorrow or the next day, if you can arrange it. We may bring you back to duty status," Kingsley said.

Harry didn't say anything at first, just sat there looking at Iolanthe.

"Ralph Mann is doing a fine job," Harry said.

Kingsley didn't say anything.

"My rehab is coming along well. The only thing that hasn't come back is the feeling on the upper left, across my shoulder and down to the elbow. The fine motor in the left hand is back. Notice how I'm engaging with my program? I now speak the lingo."

Kingsley continued to let Harry do the talking.

"Practically speaking, I can't feel pain on that side, which is an annoyance more than anything. I was thinking about applying to come back as a training officer. Run the recruits through their drills, assess fitness, develop improvement plans to get them through their qualifications, hand-to-hand instructor."

"All good stuff," Kingsley said. "I can make sure you know whenever we have an opening, so you can apply. With your time in service and demonstrated skills, you'd be a perfect fit."

Kingsley leaned back and looked up at nothing in particular.

"Tell you what," he said. "If you can get someone to look after this honorable young witch for an hour or two tomorrow, I'd like you to come in and talk to one of the administrative people about being a substitute instructor. I can't promise you'll get any work out of it, but I'd like them to pull your jacket from the reserve drawer and have you credentialed for active service, just in case."

Kingsley got up, and Harry followed suit, scooping Iolanthe up along the way.

"Any particular time?" Harry asked, leading the way through the French doors, where he waited for Kingsley. "Oh, and where do I go?"

"Check in with Percy," Kingsley said. "He's still in the same office. Any time's fine."

"I'll be there," Harry said. "Thanks for the confident comment, which we both appreciate, but Iolanthe hasn't done anything magical yet."

"Ha!" Kingsley exclaimed. "Good one Harry. See you tomorrow."

Kreacher stood ready at the front door with a bowler and a thin leather briefcase. Harry thought the Minister, in his charcoal suit, looked exactly like a muggle senior civil servant, a perfect camouflage for walking around the government-heavy neighborhoods of London in complete anonymity. Accepting the hat and case, Kingsley turned to take his leave of Iolanthe Astoria as Kreacher opened the door to a 'pop' and Daphne materialized on the top step.

"Daphne!" Kingsley said in greeting.

"Minister," Daphne responded, a little wariness coming through her otherwise neutral tone. "As long as you're here, won't you stay for lunch?"

"I can't today, but I'm sure there'll be an opportunity soon," Kingsley replied. "Harry, and Iolanthe Astoria, so happy to see you."

With that, Kingsley stepped down and disapparated.

"Imagine that," Daphne said, her eyes locked on Harry's. "Any news to relate?"

Harry held Iolanthe until Daphne had passed her cloak to Kreacher, then handed her over.

"Mum-mum," Iolanthe said, her lips continuing to work in anticipation.

"Let's discuss," Daphne said, a little edge in her voice as she started up the stairs.

The nursery had a very comfortable rocker for Daphne and Iolanthe Astoria, and Harry moved a small side chair in from a little nook in the hall.

Iolanthe got started on lunch and Daphne rocked with some energy and authority as Harry related his conversation with Kingsley.

"I knew as soon as I saw him," Daphne said. "He could invite the two of us for lunch or dinner or coffee at the ministry cafeteria, but he came by in the morning when he knew I'd be at work."

"What do you see that I don't?" Harry asked. "It sounded to me like he was trying to find something for me to do. As long as Ralph Mann is effective as Head Auror, I don't have any interest in displacing him. Kingsley said he'd like me to have current credentials, so I could move into a position, should one come open. Sounds innocent enough, considerate, even."

Daphne held Iolanthe, rocked her chair, and looked at the ceiling.

"I don't buy it," she finally said. "Kingsley could have sent you an owl, asking you to come by and see Percy, or the mysterious admin person, and get the process started. Instead, he paid a personal call, with no aide, no deputy, just you and your friendly minister, relaxing at home and talking about nothing at all, except that little personal pitch. Has Kingsley ever shown any indication he just likes hanging out with you? Has he come by, or seen you at the ministry, to ask about your rehab?"

"Before today, you mean?" Harry asked, a little grin giving him away.

"You get my point, I see," Daphne said. Iolanthe chose that moment to pull away from lunch and rid herself of a bit of curdled milk. Of course she missed the towel that Daphne had positioned just for that purpose.

"Here," Harry said, taking the towel and letting Daphne focus on moving Iolanthe.

"The best I can concede is a twenty-percent probability," Daphne said. "Eighty-percent Kingsley has got something for you to do. Something he, and Percy, and Hermione, and Bart Fudge are in complete agreement on; only Harry Potter and his skills and connections and experience and style can do it. Or maybe I should say, 'can pull it off.' Twenty percent probability you're right."

"Are we going to bet?" Harry said.

Daphne pretended not to hear. She was locked in an eye to eye adoration session with a happily lunching Iolanthe, a situation that was particularly effective in diverting Harry from serious subjects. Daphne let her answer simmer for a while, for mellowing purposes, before she finally said,

"Harry, what exactly would we bet, if you think about it?"

Harry thought over everything Daphne had said. He knew she was right. He didn't know, exactly, how he knew, but her analysis answered every question in his mind about Kingsley's unannounced visit, the primary one being, 'Why now?'

"Public acknowledgement," Harry said finally. "Public acknowledgement, and bragging rights."

"Fine, you're on, Harry," Daphne said. "You will remember our conversation when I had you trapped in your bed in St. Mungo's? We have an understanding. Don't get carried away and forget your commitments to us."

"How could you think I'd ever…" Harry put forward before Daphne cut him off.

"Oh, Harry," she said, as she brushed a lock of hair back from Iolanthe Astoria's face.


	9. Chapter 9

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Nine

The Blacks' Christmas

Harry and Daphne took Iolanthe to Greengrass Manor the next morning, where she hung out with Kendra, Astoria and Scorpius Malfoy. Harry and Daphne floo'd to the ministry and St. Mungo's, respectively, Daphne for rounds, and Harry to check in with Percy Weasley and the unnamed admin person, according to Kingsley's request.

When Iolanthe was born, Astoria had suspected, but didn't know for certain, that she was pregnant with Scorpius. She and Draco had gone to The Mill for a few days during the latter part of October, and Astoria was sitting by the pond feeding the trout while Draco ran some errand. She looked up to see a swan paddling across the mill pond. She hadn't seen a swan land, nor had there been one present when she arrived with the dried crickets for the trout. The swan climbed the pond's bank without difficulty and settled down next to Astoria.

"Not interested in swan babies, Father Zeus. Those would take too much out of me," Astoria said.

"Artemis told me you are smart," the swan said. "Don't worry, that Leda stuff is all in the past. I'm a long way from home and my powers are very weak here, comparatively speaking. Taking on the aspect of a swan is about all I'm capable of. Now, if you see Wotan coming up that lane—old geezer, big hat, staff, one eye—run for it. No, I just wanted to meet you, to ask how the quest is going."

"We're still questing," Astoria said.

"Good," said the swan. "Never give up. Did you get a copy of _The Odyssey?_ Artemis said she advised you to read a little every day."

"Artemis says read a little of _The Odyssey_ every day, so I read a little every day. Mother had a copy of the Fitzgerald in the library," Astoria said. "I never learned Greek."

"Fitzgerald is as good as you'll get until you _can_ read Greek," said the swan. "Let me just say, you're everything Artemis said you are. I'll consider it a personal honor if you'll allow me…"

The swan stood up and extended its great wing toward Astoria, brushing her torso with his primary feathers, down across her abdomen and the tops of her thighs to her knees.

"Keep your young wizard's mind focused," said the swan. "We're all pulling for you at our aerie. Even Hera."

He gave a little shudder.

The swan slid down the bank and hit the water with a splash. It paddled with its great feet, one, two, three strokes, and disappeared. Draco and Astoria did keep questing, that very night as a matter of fact, and Scorpius arrived at the end of the following June. One look at Scorpius and anyone could see Draco was his father. Nevertheless, Astoria always believed a blessing from Father Zeus couldn't have done any harm to her efforts to give Draco at least one child, and for all she knew, it could have made all the difference.

Harry took care of his administrative matters and was back at Greengrass Manor well before noon. He joined Kendra, Iolanthe, Astoria and Scorpius on the floor in the library. Iolanthe used the furniture to pull herself up onto her feet and was not disappointed in the massive displays of approval forthcoming from her family.

Daphne returned by floo after completing her rounds, taking Iolanthe in hand for a trip upstairs to the rocker for some lunch. The adults gathered for lunch in the sunny room by the patio once the children were fed and content. Daphne's influence on the Greengrass Manor kitchen was still in effect. Harry liked salad, he reminded himself. He searched for some seared tuna, or grilled chicken, amid all the greens, but had to settle for a half-dozen croutons.

"We have the Black estate looking presentable," Daphne said to Kendra. "Let's find a time for you to come see it."

"I'd love to," Kendra said. "What have you done so far?"

"Cleaning, mostly, and some new paint," Daphne said. "All the portraits and frames were cleaned. Kreacher contacted a house elf who really knows magical plumbing, so he and Harry have the kitchen and baths fully restored with reliable water. We're still replacing furniture. What was there was mostly unsalvageable."

"What are you going to do with it, Harry, now that you have a functioning Black estate?" Kendra asked.

"Host Black events," Harry said. "Go to the market in the village. Let the portraits see us coming and going. Take the children so they grow up with the history and the portraits see we're doing our duty."

Kendra, Astoria and Daphne all whooped at Harry's last comment. Harry was glad to see Astoria enjoying herself. Ever since Scorpius' birth she had been much quieter than usual.

"What did you have in mind for a Black event?" Kendra asked.

"Iolanthe's birthday is December first. I thought it might be nice to get everyone together at the estate and kick off the Christmas season," Harry said. "We can have a nice meal and everyone can see one another in a house with some history. We'll take care of the food and cleanup so the only thing anyone would need to do would be show up. And act civilized. As far as that goes with witches and wizards."

"Go Harry, go Harry, GO!" shouted Astoria, to the general consternation (mixed with delight) of Daphne and Kendra.

They really didn't know what to think, but the return of some Astoria spunkiness was to be welcomed, not questioned.

"Please consider this our invitation," Harry said in response. "You're the first official invitee to the reconstituted Black estate."

Harry and Daphne began going to the estate roughly every two weeks, specifically on market days. They found a convenient apparation point just outside the village limits, in a field, shielded by both a stone wall and a hedgerow. They would walk into town with a canvas bag, purchase a chicken and some fruit or vegetables, then take it all back to the estate and let Trix make a meal for the family. Iolanthe discovered the connection between whole apples and Trix' special applesauce puree, and put on quite a performance whenever a stall featured apples.

Trix, Kreacher and Tracey were staying alert for leads on elves seeking situations. The Black estate didn't need a full time house elf, but Potter Manor was nearing completion, and a skilled elf would be a big help in getting the new place through its shakeout period and up and running. Properly integrated into the Potter household, one elf could move with the family and manage affairs for both of the country places, since neither would be occupied on a full time basis.

Harry put together a very successful Black Christmas observance. He got Narcissa Malfoy and Andromeda Tonks, plus Teddy Lupin. The Weasleys were all invited, and Ron and Hermione came because it was a Harry-organized event and they never missed those, barring medical emergency or natural catastrophe. Harry got Bill and Fleur to come, along with Dominique and Victoire. He strongly suspected Victoire was the key to getting Teddy to come with Andromeda. Kendra and Fabio came with Draco, Astoria and Scorpius, who was acknowledged the Youngest Black, earning him a special circuit of the house to be shown to all the portraits.

The Blacks had come to the end of their line of direct male descendants, but many of the wizarding families of Britain had a connection through a female Black ancestor. Arthur Weasley's mother, Cedrella Black Weasley, for example, had been disowned when she married into the Weasleys, already considered blood traitors by the more fanatical Blacks. Thus the Weasleys were all Black cousins. There were more. Harry had hopes that in years to come, he and Daphne would be able to pull increasing numbers together, if only once a year for Black Christmas.

The more fanatical Blacks were all dead, now, and Harry, Lord Black, was the instrument that excised the most recent expounder of pureblood mania. Thus it was not surprising that the head of the family, and the architect of its reconstruction, sought non-confrontational ways and means of letting the extended Black network know that the expellees, and their descendants, would meet a friendly welcome from their cousins if they chose to participate in clan activities.

Harry thought social events would be key to building Black cohesion, but he didn't think they would be sufficient to guarantee success by themselves. A Christmas party and something in spring or early summer (he was thinking of a garden party for all the Black cousins in Britain and Ireland, to be held at the estate) would only go so far in welding the remaining family together. He wanted to find things to pull people in, to make them feel they were part of a respectable clan, the Blacks, who might have been a bit fractious in the past but had left puerile antics behind. Antics such as blasting family members off tapestries, to give one example.

When Teddy was ready to get outfitted for Hogwarts, Andromeda had already arranged for part of his outfit. Harry volunteered to take him to Diagon Alley for the rest of his uniforms, books and supplies. He had no idea how Andromeda was doing financially, but she had never asked Harry for any help in supporting Teddy. Harry remembered how much it had cost for his own first year kit and didn't want Andromeda to end up in a financial bind, so he suggested an outing, and that Teddy could bring his list and they'd see what they could do.

Andromeda accepted, and Harry and Teddy spent a day in Diagon Alley. At each shop Harry would pull the proprietor aside and advise he wasn't looking for anything flashy, but he wanted Teddy to have the best quality available. As a result, Teddy started school with a generous stock of consumables, such as quills and parchment, plus uniforms, robes and a very serviceable sycamore wand that exhibited signs of instant rapport with its young wizard.

Over three or four years, Harry quietly expanded the practice until it became established that any eleven- year-old from any of the branches of the Blacks who would be entering Hogwarts in September was free to walk into Madame Malkin's, Ollivanders, or Flourish and Blott's and identify themselves and get their initial outfits at no cost to their families, purely because of the Black family's interest in supporting and encouraging its young scholars.

Harry thought about an owl, but an owl requires a certain interest in husbandry, so he decided to talk to Andromeda before making that purchase. Eventually, Harry did buy owls, boarding a number of them at the Hogwarts Owlery, free for any Black student to use, whether to send a letter home, or to write to Cousin Harry to share their angst about turning seventeen just when there were so few opportunities for gainful employment.

The initial Black Christmas party was not at all flashy, but everyone in attendance seemed to have a good time. Word spread and Harry began getting belated regrets and promises to attend if he'd announce plans for subsequent events. By the end of December he was getting ideas for a garden party around the time of Scorpius' birthday. In his head he was already calling it Black June.

The ministry did send a few temporary opportunities Harry's way. He mainly assisted with fitness and dueling, running drills, demonstrating dueling forms for beginners, and consulting with the instructors. Harry loved those days, because he ended up getting to work out with the instructors, who were real fighters in great physical shape. As much as he liked his home gym, dueling mannequins would never be the same as fighting a human, with all that human wiliness and unpredictability.

Harry didn't notice that his workouts at the aurors' training facility gymnasium were getting more intense. It did occur to him that the instructors' schedules must have been adjusted recently because when Harry was called in to run exercise periods, there always seemed to be two first-rate aurors available when he got done. Harry got in the habit of staying on and dueling two very capable aurors at once, or taking on two opponents for judo, Graeco-Roman wrestling or boxing. He didn't make a lot out of it because he was too busy enjoying the exhilaration of feeling whole again.

The family had become accustomed to a routine on days Harry was called in. Daphne went to St. Mungo's as usual, while Harry would take the floo to Greengrass Manor and drop Iolanthe Astoria off with her worshipful grandmother, her aunt, and cousin Scorpius before going on to work with the aurors, then the adults would converge at the manor for dinner. Harry would arrive first, followed shortly by Daphne.

Daphne arrived before Harry one evening and was upstairs spooning applesauce puree into Iolanthe's hungry-little-robin mouth when Harry walked in and closed the door behind him.

"You win," Harry said.

"I know," Daphne said. "That's why you're late. I have never beaten you back here and suddenly, today…What do they want you to do?"


	10. Chapter 10

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Ten

The Department

Caught, dead to rights, like a fox with a fresh-killed pullet, Harry had to improvise, and edit, on the fly.

"Just a little courier work. Pop over to the States, see Madam President, pay a call on Professor Goldstein," Harry said. "There is a fellowship program that memorializes Dumbledore for Ilvermorny students, did you know that? One or two students a year with an expressed interest in magical education can use it for a year of post-graduation study and supervised teaching at Hogwarts or Beauxbatons. I'll be taking a check for presentation at an appropriate ceremony. Not a real check, of course, the transfers are all handled by Gringotts and their correspondent banks."

Daphne concentrated on Iolanthe's little baby spoon. She took a spoonful of applesauce puree from the cup and placed it on Iolanthe's perfect lower lip. Iolanthe opened her mouth and relieved the spoon of the puree. Iolanthe swallowed, smiled and got ready for the next applesauce puree delivery. Spoon to cup, spoon to Iolanthe, Iolanthe takes the puree, spoon to cup. Repeat.

Daphne didn't start crying, mainly because her anger was so intense it required her to focus all of her efforts on not exploding at Harry with a happy baby in her arms.

"What else?" she managed to ask.

Harry sighed.

"I have instructions," he began, "Regarding disclosure. I have to tell you so you know what I'm doing. We both have to be witting participants. There is a sanitized version for the rest of the family. You and I have to keep the details to ourselves, if that is alright with you?"

"Do I have a choice?" Daphne asked, between spoons of puree. "I can agree and have some idea of what my husband is doing, or I can demur and he won't be able to tell me anything. Nothing at all. I believe that is how these arrangements work. You just told me a cock and bull story that I saw through before you were half-way done, and I'm a healer. Do you think you're going to fool a professional with a professional's capacity for analysis of a rival ministry's comings and goings?"

"Merlin, you're smart," Harry said. "I'll take that as a yes.

"I got a briefing today. The ministry believes our baton needs a higher level of security, so I'll be hand-carrying it to Robert Goldstein's lab at Princeton. He has been doing some very advanced work that culminated in a stasis field, among other things. It's perfectly suited for putting a dangerous magical object into a state where it can't be used or tampered with, physically or magically. The Department of Mysteries has done all the study and research it can think of to do with it, except break the seals and open it up. No one, including Hermione, thinks that would be a good idea. The minister has personally visited Professor Goldstein's lab and thinks this is the best solution available, at least right now."

Daphne wiped Iolanthe's face clean with a damp cloth, which she bunched up and tossed across the room to Harry.

"Can you rinse this and hang it up?" she asked, starting to rock Iolanthe.

Harry did as he was told before returning to the nursery, Daphne's former bedroom.

"Did you have a clue this was coming?" Daphne asked. "It wasn't a coincidence those extra aurors became available to get you back to your old fighting form, do you think? And now that you're a world-beater once more, it wouldn't be yet a further coincidence that Kingsley Shacklebolt just happens to have a mission of such sensitivity that the ministry can't task a standard, working-level magical courier to do it?"

Daphne looked at Iolanthe's face as her eyes got heavier and heavier, finally closing. Her mouth continued to make eating motions, punctuated by smiles, as she drifted off to sleep. Daphne rocked forward and used the momentum to rise up. She crossed the room and laid Iolanthe down in her crib.

"In here," Daphne said, nodding toward Harry's room on the other side of the bath.

"You did have a clue, Harry. You had more than a clue. The details might have needed filling in, but you smelled this coming, and you didn't turn your back and walk away. Did you listen to anything I said before you promised me you wouldn't meet me in emergency again?"

"Of course," Harry said, a little pleading in his voice. "It's just a little overnight trip, I'll do some public relations, spread a little good will, see Ilvermorny which I've never visited before, and do a very small favor for our ministry. It's done a lot for me over the years."

"I'll go with you," she said, keeping her voice down.

"No, you won't," Harry said.

"Yes, I will," Daphne said.

"Why?" Harry demanded, some stress coming through.

"Voice," Daphne said.

"Sorry," Harry said. "Why do you want to go? I'll be busy the whole time. If it all goes as planned, I'll take a meeting with the president, we'll attend the Dumbledore function together, I'll get a tour of the professor's lab in my capacity of obscure foreign visitor, then take a slightly indirect route home."

"If Kingsley could guarantee it would all go as planned, the regular couriers would handle it. There's a reason they've taken a hand in your rehab and trained you up, Harry. Kingsley, or someone near him, doesn't think it will all go as planned," Daphne said. "Who else did you talk to today? Who gave you your briefing?"

"Daphne, I really shouldn't…" Harry made a manly attempt, all for naught.

"Which is to say, 'Yes, Daphne, I did get briefed by another ministry official today…'" said Daphne. "You might as well tell me. Maybe together we can figure out what the problem is and I can help you out."

"Slughorn," Harry said.

"And Slughorn is…?" Daphne asked.

"A department head. In addition to…"

"Potions Master," Daphne finished for him. "Brilliant. That department that is never acknowledged is overseen by the buffoonish Potions Master from the quaint magical boarding school in Scotland, up there in the mists on the shores of the unplottable lake. A talent spotter working right out in the open like a common groupie collecting autographs. That is really inspired, when you think about it.

"So, what is the problem?" Daphne asked.

"It is thought that the existence of our baton may be known, outside the ministry," Harry said. "There is no evidence of a physical nature. Just certain odd queries from some parties, some unexplained movements of people. They're just being cautious."

"Oh, Merlin," Daphne said. It was the last thing she said for close to a minute. When she spoke again, it was clear she had spent the intervening time wisely.

"Gellert Grindelwald, brilliant and megalomaniacal, discovered a way to use his magical abilities to jump over all the technical difficulties and diddle some fundamental forces. He overreached, as sometimes happens, when he tried to conscript you for his team, and the two of us modified him and put his taboo knowledge in a container of sorts. Although in the hands of specialists at the ministry for safekeeping, someone has learned, or made a lucky guess, that your baton has inside it their shortcut to power, wealth, and influence. Our esteemed minister thus believes the best chance civilization has to survive is to put the baton in the hands of Harry Potter and send him to New York to deliver it to the Princeton physicist Robert Goldstein, who will hide it in his magical forcefield, or, whatever it's called," Daphne said.

"That's it," Harry said.

"The ones after the baton, they are not nice people, are they?" Daphne asked.

"No," Harry admitted.

"Where's the item?" said Daphne.

Harry reached into his pocket and brought out a small black cylinder about the size of a lipstick tube.

"What kind of protection does it have?" Daphne asked.

"The baton is still sealed," Harry began. "It is inside this, which is obsidian, or something like it, and infused with some kind of a metallic preparation that keeps it from being penetrated by spells or charms that could…ahh…facilitate the malappropriation of Grindelwald's memories. It's been miniaturized by a common shrinking charm that any competent witch or wizard can reverse."

Daphne pinched her lower lip between her thumb and forefinger while she thought.

"You mean to leave tonight, or you wouldn't have been given the item," she stated. "How are you going?"

"I'll floo to Cornwall, to the Black estate. A portkey will be sitting on the table in the dining room," Harry said.

"How long do you plan to be gone?" Daphne asked.

"There are return portkeys arranged for tomorrow, at two and four," Harry said. "They will be ready in New York, whenever I'm done."

"When do you need to leave here?" Daphne asked.

"As soon as you and I are done talking," Harry answered.

"Okay, let's go," Daphne said, heading for Iolanthe Astoria's nursery.

"Daphne…"

"No, Harry Potter. No. Just no," Daphne said, stopping and re-closing the bathroom door. "There will be no solo jaunts to New York to deliver the item under cover of a check presentation and some quality time with Madam President. No one over there is going to watch your back or probe brains on your behalf. Those geniuses where you work are trying to finesse all of this by sending you in, out, wham, and bam. If it all goes haywire, well, they've got Harry Potter carrying the goods, so he'll figure something out, as he always does, and besides, he's in the best fighting shape he's been in for a couple of years, because they made sure of that, not to mention he's extra-extra-careful because he just finished rehab after nearly getting sliced in two by a cutting curse.

"Now, give it to me," Daphne demanded, holding out her hand. "The item. Don't stare, just hand it over, Potter."

Harry reached in his pocket and pulled the cylinder out.

"Give it to me and go kiss your daughter. Try not to wake her up, please," Daphne ordered, politely, nudging Harry out and closing the bathroom door.

" _Finite incantatem,"_ Harry said, his foot in the door. "That's all it takes to cancel the miniaturization. If you are forced to give up the item, give up the item. If you're forced to give up the spell, give up the spell. If possible, stand back ten feet or so when it is cast."

Harry looked at Iolanthe while he waited for Daphne to come out. He tried to memorize her hands, her face, her perfect little seashell ears. Her hair was just starting to come in, and it looked like she'd be a platinum blonde like Daphne. Baby hair. Harry knew enough about baby hair to know its color was subject to change without notice. He knew he liked looking at Daphne's rather dramatic hair, but supposed he'd like looking at Iolanthe's as well, no matter the final shade.

Daphne came out of the bathroom. There must have been a question on Harry's face.

"Don't ask. You would not like the answer," Daphne volunteered. "Did you give her a kiss? This might be your last chance for a while."

Harry leaned over Iolanthe Astoria's crib and kissed her forehead, carefully, silently.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too," Daphne said, before kissing Iolanthe.

"I need them both," Daphne said, as much to herself as to Harry.

They found Kendra in the library.

"Mother," Daphne said, "Can I ask you a big favor? Is Father around somewhere? It would be best if we all got together."

"I think so," Kendra said, getting up from her chair. "Let's look in his office."

"Fabio?" Kendra said, cracking the door to the office.

"Hello?" Fabio answered. "Well, look who's here. Pretty much everyone. What's the occasion?"

"Harry? Sanitized version, please," Daphne said, giving Harry the floor.

"I'm going on a trip on behalf of the ministry," Harry said. "I'll go to New York and present a check to MACUSA and Ilvermorny to support the Dumbledore Fellowship program. While I'm there I'll pay a courtesy call on Professor Robert Goldstein, who's an uncle of our classmate Anthony Goldstein.

"It wasn't planned for Daphne to accompany me, but she has her own thoughts on that," Harry finished.

"There's a professional meeting in New York, just when Harry needs to be there," Daphne said. "It wouldn't hurt for me to show up and shake a few hands, strictly on the periphery, of course.

"Father, could we use the Greengrass floos? It would make our travel arrangements so much simpler," said Daphne. "And Mother, if I could impose on you. Trix is keeping some bottles in the cooler for Iolanthe but if you run out the elves can fix what you need. She likes the pureed veg better than milk now, anyway.

"What do you think, Harry, you said we're back tomorrow afternoon?" Daphne finished up.

"Or early evening," Harry affirmed.

"Of course, go ahead and use the Firm's floos, that's what they're for," Fabio said. He pulled out a desk drawer, then another, then a third before he found what he was looking for.

"Take this, Harry, it's a list of floo addresses we connect to. Use it all you want. You'll just be helping me to justify the expense."

"We'll go out the library, the fireplace is bigger," Daphne said. "Don't get up…Back before you know we've been gone."

"Wards," Harry said on his way out. "All of them. Maximum strength."

Daphne closed the door to the office behind them, then closed the door to the library.

"Why all the cloak and dagger?" Harry asked as they stepped into the fireplace.

"Greengrass Torshavn," Daphne said, dropping a good-sized pinch of floo powder.

In Fabio's office, Fabio and Kendra heard a faint 'WHOOSH' from the library.

Kendra looked at Fabio.

"She wanted to marry Harry Potter," Kendra said, sounding resigned.

"Pretty much since Platform Nine and Three Quarters," Fabio said. "Wonder what they're up to this time?"

"Feel like setting some wards, Lord Greengrass?" Kendra suggested, drawing her wand.

Harry and Daphne stepped out of a fireplace in a small, ground-floor office in a town, somewhere. Harry could see out the window. He didn't see any high rises. Most of the buildings he could see were one or two stories.

"Where in the world?" he asked.

"Quiet indoor voice," Daphne said. "Have you ever heard of the Faroes?"

"Island group northwest of Scotland, but before you get to Iceland?" Harry guessed.

"The very ones," Daphne said. "This is Father's office in Torshavn, the capital. It's occupied part of the year. Not now, though. There is an apartment upstairs. Come on."

Daphne walked to the back of the office and touched her wand to two locks set in a metal door. Harry heard two clicks, presumably the lock in the handle, and a deadbolt. He assumed they were magical locks, although muggle locks can be trained to lock and unlock in response to silent spells. Daphne stepped up as she went through the door.

"Step," she said. Once inside, she closed the door. The stairwell was pitch black.

"No lights," Daphne said. "Just stand here a minute and let our eyes adjust."

"Better?" Daphne asked, after a bit.

"Much," Harry said. He could just make out some regular variations in the shade of black rising up from the landing.

"I'll lock this behind us," Daphne said. "Then, we'll climb the stairs and sit down upstairs. Don't talk until we cast _muffliato_ and then only when we have to. We'll sit quietly and look out the window for a little while."

"Why are we here again?" Harry asked.

"Just waiting to see if we have company," Daphne answered.

Once they got to the top of the stairs, Harry could see fairly well. There was some strong twilight outside, and a few street lamps were sufficient to pick out pedestrians. There weren't a lot of those.

Daphne waved her wand. She cast whatever she cast silently.

Harry looked out the window. A shadow moved across the street. Harry never did consider himself a master of legilimency, but he could reach out and get some idea for what was going on if the subject was not too far away.

"…Her mother never told her, the things a good girl should know…"

'BLAISE?' Harry thought.

"…About the ways of Navy men…"

'Nope, Blaise wouldn't be singing about Navy men. He wouldn't even have an earworm that sang about Navy men,' Harry thought.

A few minutes later, another figure walked up a side street that connected to the one that ran in front of the Greengrass office. The two figures stood on the sidewalk, by appearances having a conversation, then they turned and walked off.

Harry got Daphne's attention. He pointed to his ear. Daphne shook her head. Once again Daphne waved her wand, saying nothing.

"Quiet voices," Daphne said. "That was _muffliato._ What did you want?"

"Do you hear anything?" Harry asked.

"No," Daphne replied. "You?"

"The guy across the street had a kind of folk song playing in his head," Harry said. "It was in English."

"Most people here speak English, plus one or two other languages. What did the two of them speak?" Daphne asked.

"Don't know. It wasn't English nor parseltongue. It didn't sound like Fleur and Gabrielle either, so I guess that eliminates French," said Harry.

Daphne didn't see the conversation proceeding down productive channels, so she held her response to Harry's last comment and moved along in a different direction.

"Did they give you any American currency?" she asked.

"Five hundred dollars," Harry said. "I have to keep receipts for what I buy and turn in anything that's left over. How much is that in galleons, anyway?"

"Not enough to matter," Daphne said, and crept across the room. She opened a cupboard door, exposing a safe, and touched the dial with the tip of her wand. The dial spun itself, left, right and left, then stopped. Daphne grasped a handle and pushed it down, then pulled back, opening the safe. She reached inside and removed a canvas bag, from which she took several stacks of wrapped bills. She looked through her haul, throwing some of the stacks back into the bag, and putting others aside.

Moving to the window, she found the lightest spot on the floor and began separating stacks. After about ten minutes she handed Harry three wads of notes.

"Keep them folded over, like this," she said, showing Harry what she wanted. "Three thousand dollars in hundreds. Keep them flat, someplace where the silhouette won't show through your clothes. This is one thousand dollars in hundreds. Go ahead and give it up if it will get you out of a jam. It's just money. This is one thousand dollars in fifties, twenties and tens. This is your walking-around money. You may want a hot pretzel or something in New York. You probably won't have any trouble, but it's still New York, so try to be discreet when taking a little off your roll. No need to call attention to yourself.

"The same for me," Daphne said, holding up her bills. "That's five thousand dollars apiece. Now I want you to witness something."

Daphne found a legal pad on which she wrote with a felt tip marker: "IOU $10,000 U.S.—Daphne"

Daphne put the IOU, and the cash she didn't need, back in the safe and locked it up.

"I think we can move. Do you hear anything?" Daphne asked.

Harry shook his head. He closed his eyes and tried using legilimency to feel for others outside the building.

"You?" he asked.

"No."

Daphne led the way down the steps. Harry stopped her at the bottom. He drew his wand and pointed it at each lock, thinking _'silencio'_ in turn, then he looked at Daphne and nodded. She used her wand to again unlock the locks. Harry pointed his wand at the door, and thought ' _open.'_

The ground floor office looked just as they'd left it. Daphne closed and locked the door to the steps, then took Harry's hand and led him to the fireplace.

Daphne dropped her floo powder and said, "Greengrass Fort de France."

Harry was struck by the thought that if he became separated from Daphne he'd become a wizard Flying Dutchman, sailing the floo networks of the world, instead of the seas, going from port to port but never allowed to dock. It seemed like a wildly inappropriate metaphor, though, and he wisely resolved to keep it to himself.

Harry and Daphne exited a fireplace in the Fort de France Greengrass office, stepping into steambath conditions.

"Merlin!" Harry said. "This is?"

"Martinique," said Daphne. "One of the French islands in the Caribbean."

"And they need fireplaces?" Harry wondered.

"This building pre-dates kitchen ranges," Daphne explained. "It ought to have fallen down by now. Would have, too, if it weren't for magic. Before they had ranges, they had to cook somewhere, so, during earlier centuries, this was how they cooked. This building is actually a converted kitchen. It was separated from the main house to keep the heat out here and not get the house even hotter with the cooking fire. It's a historic building. Father was lucky to get it.

"There are some magical growers on Martinique, and Father developed a nice trading relationship with them a few years ago. He needed a local office, and it took forever to find one with a fireplace, but here we are.

"Now, I think we can have a little more confidence in our security. We'd have been jumped, or at least studied, in Torshavn, if there'd been a hound or hounds pursuing us, and neither one of us saw any sign.

"We have to think about clothes. What were you going to do about that?" Daphne asked.

"Martinique isn't going to have what it takes to blend in with New Yorkers. What are you thinking?" Harry asked.

"A visit to one of the American department stores. A hundred, two hundred dollars for something off the rack, something suitable for a geeky healer with some training, a little on the shy side," Daphne said. "You?"

"This," Harry said, removing the top of his track suit, which he laid on the floor.

The trousers followed, and the t-shirt after that.

"You didn't get a shower after working out, did you?" asked Daphne, sounding genuinely concerned.

"Oh. Do I smell gamey?" Harry asked.

"Um, only a bit," Daphne reassured him.

Harry stood there in his underwear and socks, spread his arms and said, "Freshen me up."

Daphne cast several freshening charms in succession. Then Harry picked up his wand and cast _limpio_ on his track suit, then flipped it over and did it again. Then he cast spells at the jacket, pants, and the t-shirt he'd been wearing, changing them to a charcoal suit and white cotton shirt with a button-down collar. He cast something at his athletic shoes and turned them into shiny black leather dress shoes with close soles. After slipping everything on, he looked at Daphne.

"I wouldn't mind taking a tasteful tropical tie home, if you know where one can be purchased," Harry said, a tie being all he needed to walk in the front door at MACUSA.

"We'll get you a tie," Daphne said. "Maybe not here. Right now, I've got to do something."

With that she pointed her wand just the way Harry had shown her, pushed everything out of her mind but one very happy thought, and cast her patronus. When the lynx had materialized, she gave it some instructions.

"I need you to go to Utica, New York, and find Larry Davis, and give him this message: 'Hi, Uncle Larry, this is Daphne. My husband and I are going to be close by and I wondered if I could bring him to your place and introduce him. If that works for you, just tell my friend here and she'll come right back to me and let me know. Kisses, of course, Uncle Larry'"

The lynx twitched its tail and bounded through the closed door to the street. Daphne waved her wand, and Harry felt the temperature start to drop.

"Might as well be comfortable," Daphne said, pulling a swivel chair over to the window and opening the wide shutters just a little.

"How did Daphne Greengrass acquire an uncle in, where'd you say…Yoot—"

"Utica, New York," Daphne advised him.

"He's Lawrence Davis, a squib, and my mother's beloved brother. When he couldn't do magic and therefore couldn't go to Hogwarts, Grandfather and Grandmother Davis arranged for him to study privately for a couple of years, then he applied for art school. He moved to Canada before the First Wizarding War was over, partly because of prejudice within his own family, partly for work. He started teaching, got recruited by a college in upstate New York, and has been there ever since. He's a citizen now. I believe his housemate teaches physics or chemistry at another college. It's always been ambiguous on our side of the pond if they're 'partners' in that sense of the word, so let's not either of us make assumptions until they let us know," Daphne finished.

"You're crazy about him," Harry said, very matter-of-factly.

"I am. We both are. Astoria and I got to visit him three times over the years. At one point I considered attending his college, then the professor I wanted to work with died or retired, I've forgotten which.

"Hell-OH!" Daphne said, interrupting herself. "Straight across the street. Straw hat, a bit of a beard, white shirt out over tan shorts."

"Is that Blaise?" Harry asked. "Cavalry twill shorts. Oh, yeah, that leg's seen surgery. What's he done to his face? It doesn't really settle, does it? It's always changing, but slowly, so you don't notice the motion. You just can't ever form a lasting impression of what he looks like. Diabolical. I like it."

"What's he doing here?" Daphne asked.

"Where did you plan to go next?" Harry responded.

"Greengrass Montreal, then on to Utica, if Uncle Larry says to come on," said Daphne.

"Let's go to Montreal and see if he shows up there. The lynx will come to you and your wand, wherever you are," said Harry.

Without further delay they stepped into the fireplace and Daphne dropped her floo powder, giving 'Greengrass Montreal' as the destination.

They stepped out. This time, Daphne didn't drop Harry's hand.

"Floo powder," she said, frustration coming through clearly. "I didn't check back there in Fort de France, and we barely had enough. We can't ever make that mistake again. It could mean floo'ing out, versus fighting our way out."

"Brilliant. I should have caught that," Harry said. "Credit, where credit is due."

"I want to stop right here and tell you I'm mad for you, Harry," said Daphne, "but we'd better put it off until we check our surroundings. Floo powder, check. Scan the office—papers put away, door secure, blinds down and just slightly open…"

A patronus lynx materialized from a little ball of light that popped into existence between Harry and Daphne. Someone started talking from the vicinity of the lynx.

"Daphne, my most favorite niece, or at least co-equal with Tracey and Astoria. You weren't very specific, but I'm here at the house this afternoon. I have two classes tomorrow so one p.m. to five p.m. are booked. Come before or after."

"Uncle Larry?" Harry asked.

"You're psychic," Daphne replied.

"Let's go," Harry said. "We'll dive straight down after that snitch and let the other guy smash into the ground. You may recall I used that very move against Ravenclaw, third year."

"I don't hate athletes," Daphne said. "Honestly, I don't, it's just…Utica central floo."

'WHOOSH!'

Harry had heard of towns with a central floo, but he had never had need to visit one. He was glad their next-to-final destination had one, because he couldn't think of a better way to spot a tail than to go to a town where every witch and wizard funneled in and out through the same floo.

The entrance and exit proved to be through the firebox of a boiler in an unused factory building. The access door had been magically modified to expand when someone needed to enter or exit, then resume its normal configuration.

An enterprising soul, presumably a witch or wizard, had set up a coffee stand several yards distant from the boiler. The stand was doing a brisk business, catching travelers who needed a pick-me-up after arriving, or who had a few minutes to spare before departing. Harry spotted a table that was partly obscured by a huge column of structural steel.

"Fancy a coffee?" Harry said. "Sit down and hold that little table, I'll get us an espresso."

"None for me," Daphne said.

Harry brought two little espresso cups to the table.

"Did you hear me say…" was all Daphne could say before Harry said, "Then just twiddle it a bit and watch the floo."

Daphne sniffed, but she did keep her fingertips on the little cup while she helped Harry look.

Harry took ten full minutes to watch the boiler, but no one came who piqued their interest. If they were under surveillance whomever was surveilling them was a master of concealment.

"Let's go," Harry said, taking both cups. He tossed his empty in the bin that said 'CUPS' and put Daphne's cup to his lips.

"One is never enough," he confided.

Daphne replied with an, "Ooooh. I do like to hear that. Apparation point right over here."

They came to a little secluded area behind some tall shrubs and Daphne put her arm around Harry's waist, pulling him close. She didn't waste any time and a moment later they were on a sidewalk, approaching the back door of a frame house from an alley that ran through the middle of the block. Harry crushed his cup as they walked.

Daphne knocked on the door, then opened it.

"Uncle Larry!" she called through the opening.

A fragmented figure appeared through the window and the narrow opening.

"Just a minute…chain," Harry heard, before the chain dropped with a rattling sound and the door opened.

"Daphne, if I could make art half as beautiful…and this is Mr. Daphne! Glad to meet you, I'm Daphne's Uncle Larry. Larry's fine, wait, you're not Larry, too, are you?" said a man in a white t-shirt and paint-spattered jeans topped off by a beautiful light gray silk kimono.

"It's Harry," Harry said. "Glad to meet you."

"Harry!" said Larry, "Of course, I remember when I heard you were engaged to Harry, Daphne, thinking, 'Oh. Positively Shakespearean. Harry and Larry. I sense the emergence of a new Comedy of Errors.

"Well, come on in. I'm guessing your time is short. Are you on Greengrass business?

"Not exactly. Harry is doing something for Hogwarts and I'll be attending a conference. What have you been up to?" Daphne asked.

"Come on in and I'll show you," Larry said. "Yo! Coming through with an impressionable young lady, try not to traumatize her psyche."

They heard a door close somewhere.

Larry's house was an old-fashioned bungalow design that had two large rooms in front. Larry's studio occupied one of the rooms, and the other was clearly a gallery, devoid of furniture, with paintings on the walls and track lighting all over the ceiling. In the studio side, finished paintings hung or stood stacked against the wall, and three easels had a painting-in-progress each. Harry had spent some time in galleries in London and had read in to a degree, and he could see that Larry was producing some very marketable work.

"Can you sell this in Utica?" Harry asked.

Larry laughed, loudly.

"Not a lot. I do hit the open-air art fair circuit during the nice times of the year. I'm represented by galleries in Buffalo and New York City. Painters can sell a lot over the internet, if they know what they're doing. My main occupation is art professor, but I like doing this and it provides a little mad money.

"Now, Daphne, tell me about my grand-niece. Kendra sent me some photos. I've been trying to find time to come over, even for a long weekend, but flying these days…Aieeee!"

Larry smacked his palm against his forehead.

"She just turned one year on December first, she eats, drinks, smiles, walks a bit, and is just starting to get hair. It might be like mine but it's too early to tell," Daphne told him, then turned to Harry.

"You know what, Harry?"

"I do," Harry said. "We need some of this for the house. Perfect fit."

Harry looked at Larry.

"Daphne and Fabio designed us a house, and the builders are almost done. It's contemporary, so this would all be appropriate."

Daphne moved around from painting to painting, then took some time looking through a stack that leaned against the front wall of the house. She looked out a front window and across a porch with what appeared to be a custom-designed porch swing, before turning her attention back to the paintings.

"Uncle Larry," she said, "Sorry to cut our visit so short, but we have to make this one a fly-by and get downstate and check in. Pick out a day in the next month when I can come buy some art for the house. I'll bring Iolanthe. Will you be able to visit when we're ready to hang it?"

"Any Saturday or Sunday works. No classes," Larry said. "Of course I'll come and help to hang it. My babies must be shown to their best advantage."

"Thank-you!" Daphne said. "I'll send you a couple of suggested dates in the next few days. I put one painting aside so I can think about it. Just there."

"Daphne," Larry said.

Daphne and Harry turned around.

"I know the signs. You're right in the middle of something. Is there anything I can do?" Larry asked.

"Put a SOLD tag on that one I pulled out, that looks like someone hallucinated irises. Should anyone apparate onto your front porch, demanding you produce us, show them the painting and tell them we went on ahead to New York. Should they offer to deliver it personally, give them your best, heart-felt thank you, and hand it over," Daphne said.

"Be safe," Larry said.

"Until next month," Daphne replied, leading Harry back out to the alley.

"What hotel did they want you to use?" Daphne said as they approached the old boiler.

Harry told her.

"Perfect!" Daphne said. "Let's check it out first, before you check in, okay?"

Without waiting for an answer, Daphne dropped her floo powder and said, "Miss Marigold's Manhattan."

Following the 'WHOOSH" Harry found himself stepping into a very peculiar room, something of a Victorian parlor recreated drawing solely on late twentieth and early twenty-first century fittings and furnishings. The effect was disorienting, like the incoherence implicit in adding gold fringe and finials to a Barcelona chair.

"Daphne!" someone called from behind a long desk near the wall.

"Marigold! What are you doing working the desk?" Daphne said. The two women crossed the room and indulged in a long, rocking embrace.

"Perfect storm," said Marigold. "The regular gave birth this morning, the sub I wanted went to California on vacation last week, and the sub for the sub isn't available for a few more hours because she has an actual job roasting coffee in Brooklyn. So, I'm it, until she gets here.

"Why are you popping in on us?"

"Ministry business," Daphne answered. "This is my husband, Harry Potter, and he's representing the ministry at a MACUSA event. I wanted to go by a conference downtown. There are a couple of interesting papers on the schedule, so I'm going to try to get in, even though I didn't get registered in advance. Is 301 available?"

"Yes, for you, it's always available," Marigold said. "Any bags?"

Marigold looked around, the practiced eye of the career hotelier sizing up the guest, and the guest's companion, their clothes, haircuts and body language.

"They'll be along," Daphne said. "Is my wand still the room key?"

"It's all still the same. Can we get you anything? Tickets for a show? Sports? Car and driver for tonight?" Marigold asked.

"Let us knock the road dust off," Daphne said. "By then we'll be thinking clearly."

Daphne led the way upstairs, skipping the two lobby lifts. She called a halt at the second floor, stepping back into a little anomaly in the hallway that afforded an unobstructed view of the top of the stairs, but would not make an observer obvious to anyone following behind. After counting to sixty, she took Harry's hand and proceeded to the second flight of stairs that went up to the third floor.

Room 301 at Marigold's faced the street in front of the building. The two streetside windows faced another hotel directly across and had views of a generous slice of the street to the right and left. Harry looked out and saw the hotel opposite them was the one he'd been directed to by the ministry travel office.

"You're supposed to be a country bumpkin witch who discovered a fascination with healing and focused on your discipline to the exclusion of any other sort of diversion," Harry said.

"And, when we're alone, I converse with Fleur Delacour Weasley only in French, and she does not correct my accent," Daphne responded.

"Before I got stuck on healing I worked with Fabio. I was his trainee, you could say. He does a lot of the supplier relations work personally, hence the facilities here and there. None of them are all that ostentatious, as you will have observed, just a little office where he can meet and drink tea with people, talk trade, do a little buying or contracting," Daphne explained as she pulled a chair closer to the window.

"If you'd like to pitch in with a little stakeout action, feel free," Daphne said. "Anyway, up until my late teens I'd travel with Fabio on school breaks, so I learned something about the Greengrass floos, New York, and Marigold's, as well as all those obscure places like Torshavn where we bought whelks, or lichen breath."

Harry positioned his chair so he could sweep the street from the hotel entrance opposite, along the sidewalk and the far traffic lane, to the intersection roughly a half block distant to his right.

"Lichens breathe?" he asked.

"Their exhalations are critical to the manufacture of certain potions," said Daphne. "The quantities needed are very small, so the houses that sell directly to potioneers don't bother doing the ground-level work with producers that Fabio does, preferring to let him have that part of the business, and buying what they need from him. His profit comes from volume. He completely rejuvenated the business with that strategy."

"I see where your work ethic originates," Harry said. "Besides having the vision, he had the energy to bring it to life."

"Exactly," said Daphne, "When anyone is lucky enough to find that thing they'd do just for the joy of doing it, success usually follows. Look at his gardens, a labor of love. He's the same way about the business. He really likes taking the floo to Fort de France and speaking French with those magical growers, going out to see the plots and beds, and so on. He's a gardener, and business success just seems to flow out of the fun he's having.

"That's how I became with mental maladies. Magical minds are kaleidoscopic. You never get to the end of possibilities. Some outcomes are not good and leave people in pain. I like to relieve pain. I can't ever learn enough about relieving those poor people of their pain."

"You make me want to say things that indicate I'm all squishy inside," Harry informed Daphne.

"A certain level of squishiness manifests inside me when you describe yours," advised Daphne.

"Just as soon as we wrap up this business…" said Harry.

"Take the whole street for just a moment," Harry said, getting up and crossing the room to the desk. He looked around for the usual hotel room literature, found it, then went through looking for a neighborhood map. In luck, he took the map back to his chair by the window.

"Look, my hotel goes through the block. I wonder if there is another entrance?" Harry mused. "If I can get out of here without being seen, I can go around to that side and see if I can find an entrance. I think it's time I checked in. What do you think of this—I'll take a little detour on the way to my hotel, register, and shower. That way, anyone paying attention sees evidence I've arrived. You can give me fifteen minutes then go do your shopping. We'll meet back here at Marigold's in two hours. There may be contact information waiting for me over there."

"Brilliant," Daphne said.

"The item," Harry said, holding out his hand.

"Harry…" Daphne tried.

"No, Daphne," Harry came back. "Not out on the street in New York, doing your shopping, going in and out of fitting rooms. Give it to me or I send up a distress flag and we get extracted."

Daphne disappeared into the bath and closed the door. A minute later, Harry heard water running and Daphne came out and handed him back the black cylinder. Harry looked at his watch.

"Is your watch magical? Does it reset itself? I have three p.m. Back here at five?"

Daphne looked at her watch and nodded.

Harry stuck the hotel map in the inside pocket of his jacket and leaned over toward Daphne as she turned her cheek up for him. With reciprocal 'Good luck' wishes Harry left the room.

Marigold's, a magical hotel, didn't have a need for all the security measures that plagued muggle establishments. The ground floor alternative exit was just a door that guests were welcome to use, unencumbered by warnings about alarms. Harry stepped out into a short alleyway that passed between two buildings and allowed him to walk to the street behind Marigold's. He turned right, then right again, walked two blocks, turned right again, and was on the street that passed by the opposite side of the ministry's choice of hotel. As he had anticipated, the hotel had a secondary entrance on that street, without the flashy stainless canopy.

Harry could see the lobby and main desk ahead as he ducked into a door marked 'Men.' He really didn't need it. He counted to ten and stepped back out, checking back the way he'd just come. Seeing no one coming along behind him, he went on to the desk to register.

Harry gave Daphne's answer to the question "Bags?" as he accepted the key card.

"They'll be along," he said. "Any messages for me?"

Harry'd been expecting something at check-in, but when the desk assured him there was nothing waiting for him, he took the lift to his floor and found his room. After closing the door and flipping the inside latch closed, he drew his wand and cast an additional security charm. It wasn't perfect, and it wasn't particularly strong. It was sufficient to cause any intending intruder to make some noise getting in, so Harry could be ready to disarm and disable a person entering without permission.

Harry picked up an envelope from the desk with 'Harry' hand printed on the outside. Inside he found a single, blank sheet of parchment, its dimensions seeming just a little off. He guessed it was the standard U.S. size, eight and one-half by eleven inches, rather than the magical European A4 sheet. Drawing his wand, he passed it over the parchment, muttering, ' _Revelio_."

"Schedule for Mr. Harry Potter, OM, Ministry of Magic"

Said a very nice header at the top of the page. Harry looked closely at the print. It appeared to be calligraphy, but the letters were extraordinarily regular, making Harry think an autonomous quill had done the writing.

There was nothing scheduled for the evening.

"Nice," Harry thought. "Dinner with Healer Daphne. Someplace New Yorkish."

The next day's schedule was very compact.

"0700—Mr. Potter departs hotel for MACUSA. Transportation provided.

0710—Mr. Potter guest of President, MACUSA (PMACUSA) for breakfast.

0745—Mr. Potter and PMACUSA depart for Ilvermorny School. Transportation provided.

0750—Party introduced to Ilvermorny faculty (Faculty Lounge, coffee, tea)

0800—Dumbledore Fellowship check presentation. Remarks.

0830-0900—Tour Ilvermorny. PMACUSA returns to MACUSA.

0900—Mr. Potter departs for Princeton and tour of laboratory, Prof. Robert Goldstein, host. Transportation provided.

1100—Conclude tour, early lunch at Princeton Faculty Club.

TBD—Return to hotel. Carry out arrangement for Mr. Potter's return to London."

Harry studied the schedule. He tried to put himself inside the mind of someone who wanted to relieve someone like him of a valuable artifact. What would their assumptions be?

He could keep it with him or put it someplace safe. Harry Potter would believe the item would be safer with him because he's confident in his physical and magical fighting capabilities.

Where would he be vulnerable to a surprise assault? The street? On his way to dinner in New York on his free night? On his way back, when he's full and ready for downtime? In his room, where his movements are limited?

Harry had been drawing on all his years of training and hadn't spotted anyone following him. He was sure Blaise had been across the street from Fabio's office in Fort de France, but other than that, he hadn't seen anyone he thought was either a hostile or friendly tail. He sat on the end of his bed, staring at the wall, thinking it all through.

"Shower," he thought. He'd get freshened up, muss up some towels, and head back to his meeting with Daphne at Miss Marigold's, just another out-of-towner gawking at the buildings in what was possibly the only city on Earth more magical than London. Shower complete, complimentary toiletries opened and partially depleted, feeling fully human for the first time in several hours, Harry left the evidence of his check-in and returned to the ground floor, retracing his route out of the hotel. He took a little more time getting back to Marigold's so it would be very close to two hours when he opened the door to Room 301.

Harry paused on the second floor, following Daphne's excellent example, then continued up to Three. He laid his wand on the lock and entered.

"Daphne?" he called, looking around the room. He noted the door to the bath was open a few inches, and the light shone out. Odd. Daphne was a dedicated energy saver and never left any light source, muggle or magical, burning unnecessarily.

"In here, Harry," came a voice from the bath. "We have a visitor so no sudden moves. He's been polite so far."

The door opened slowly and a large man emerged from the bathroom.

"It's Huffman, isn't it?" Harry asked. "I've seen your photograph, of course. They're quite rare, but there is the one."

"Close, Mr. Potter," said the man, keeping his wand pointed toward the bath. Harry assessed it was directed at Daphne and would stay that way until Harry had been rendered harmless.

"I go by Hoffman. Now, you are transporting something and you have gone to a great deal of trouble to conceal your movements and give me a hard time so let's conclude our business in an efficient manner from this point on. I've heard there is a ceremonial baton that is in your possession and I'll just relieve you of it now."

"Oh," Harry said. "I thought you wanted to rob us. We have a bit of travel money. Surely that's what you're after."

"Do I have to become agitated?" Hoffman asked. He did sound a little agitated, Harry thought.

"I don't have a baton. I am transporting something," Harry said. "Why don't you point the wand at me, and I'll get what I've got out of my pocket and you can see if that is what you want?"

Hoffman kept his wand pointed toward the bath and stepped slowly into the room. Harry waited with his hands up until Hoffman redirected his wand at Harry. The two did a slow, ponderous sidestep until Harry was nearer the bath. He brought his right hand down to the breast pocket of his jacket and extracted the black cylinder, which he held up between his thumb and forefinger.

"This is what I was given to bring over," Harry said. "I don't know the whole story. They never tell you the whole story, of course."

He tossed the cylinder onto the duvet, and kept sidestepping toward the bath, and Daphne.

"What is this?" Hoffman asked.

"I don't know," Harry said. "I'm just the courier. The ministry is to pay me a tidy sum for delivering it. You'd really be better off robbing us, to be honest.

"The only thing I know is the cylinder is a container for something," Harry continued. "If you want to take a look, you have to reverse the shrinking charm. Can you cast _finite incantatem?_ I can do it if you can't."

"Oh, for the Chief Druid's sake, Potter, of course I can, that is something the nursemaid teaches the little ones where I come from," Hoffman said.

Several things happened at once. Hoffman pointed his wand at the cylinder and said " _Finite incantatem!"_ Harry dived toward Daphne, who had moved and was standing just outside the bathroom, and a shimmering blue light filled the room.


	11. Chapter 11

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Eleven

Harry, the Shaman, and Two Critical Conversations

The shimmering blue light is only light if you are not physically in it. If you are in it, you feel like you are swimming in blue gelatin for several seconds, trying with all your might to hold your breath and swim upwards toward some air that you can breathe.

Then you become unconscious.

On the other side of consciousness, Harry found, there is a flat rock where you can sit down and hang your legs over a great void that goes down several hundred feet until it is interrupted by a pile of weathered and broken rock called scree, that has been building up for millennia. Harry also found that he could see a tapering snout in his field of vision directly in front of his face. The old man wearing a straw hat and a loose white shirt and jeans, seated to Harry's right, could have been Dumbledore.

"Excuse me, sir, I don't mean to be a bother, but it's just the two of us here and I don't know any other way to go about this. Am I dead?" Harry asked.

The old man stared out over the great drop. As Harry waited for the old man to answer, he noticed some kind of large, soaring bird gliding in circles and figure-eights some distance below where they sat. Harry had lost all sense of time, so he did not have a good estimate of how long it took before the old man spoke up.

"I was thinking I was dead," said the old man. "Now I'm not so sure. Your head?"

"My head?" Harry asked, raising his hand to his cheek. He felt the fur that covered a prominent jawbone, which he had somehow never noticed before.

"It seems new," said Harry, but he knew as soon as he said it that there wasn't a lot of information in his statement.

"You look like Anubis," said the old man. "This led to my thinking I was dead. I'm pretty sure I've never been dead before, although, during my training, I'm told I was unconscious for about six months. The only reason they didn't bury me was I didn't start to stink. At least, that is the story the people in the village told after I woke up. You really do look like Anubis, but this isn't how I perceive the underworld, so I don't know."

"I see," Harry nodded.

The sun went down and the mountains in the distance turned to purple then black, then they disappeared altogether before becoming purple, then orange, then sunburnt grays once more, all in a much shorter time than Harry would have thought met the regulations for an overnight.

"…your dilemma," Harry said, finishing his thought. He took a deep breath, held it and let it out through his nostrils. The old man did the same.

"I'm Harry Potter," Harry said, looking over at the old man.

Harry saw his shadow as cast by the rising sun, taking note of his canine profile.

"You look like Anubis," said the old man. "I am Juan. They call me Don Juan, but I don't insist on it, from the other _brujos._ You are a _brujo,_ I believe?"

"I'm a wizard," Harry affirmed. "In English. What kind of a _brujo_ are you, Don Juan? Fighter, sage, potion-maker…?"

"I'm not sure of the English word," said Don Juan, "but I think you might call me a shaman? People come to me and bring me questions and the answers aren't in this world, so I go into the other world and ask around, see if there is an answer over there. Then I try to come back alive!"

Don Juan started laughing at his own joke, to the degree Harry thought he was in danger of tumbling off their perch. The irony of it finally got through to Harry and he started laughing just as hard.

"I…I know…" Harry tried, but couldn't finish. He stopped trying. Finally, he thought he might be able to finish.

"I know ALL about that!" he managed to get out. This got the two of them going again, but eventually they got control and wiped the tears from their eyes. Harry flipped his left hand out over the drop and the tears hit the stone, causing beautiful emerald green prickly pears to grow out of cracks wherever a tear landed.

"What sort of wizard are you?" Don Juan asked.

Harry was stopped short by Don Juan's question. He didn't know how to answer. He was no longer Head Auror, or even an auror at all. Not strictly speaking. He didn't patrol and he didn't hold down a desk. He was a part time instructor and a temporary courier.

"It takes a little while to tell," Harry said, to warn Don Juan in advance.

"Well, if we are dead, we have a lot of time to tell stories," Don Juan answered. If they hadn't just used up all their laughter, Don Juan would have had them right back at it.

"When I was one year old," Harry began, "A very powerful, and evil wizard killed my parents, to get to me. He attacked me, but my mother was more powerful than him, and her sacrifice protected me, nearly killing him. It was only through some vile and unworthy sorcery that he held onto life.

"He was physically unable to do very much for over ten years until some of his followers managed to get him his strength back and he made war, again, on all the witches and wizards who would not come over to his side," Harry said.

He might have been content to leave it there had not Don Juan continued.

"So you killed him."

Harry looked at the mountains in the distance and nodded.

"I let him try to kill me first, to stop the fighting. He cast a killing curse at me and I went down. I woke up in the place between the worlds, and my teacher met me there and we talked over some things. I had a choice. I came back to finish it."

"Sometimes," Harry said, "I…"

Harry pointed at a tree far below.

"Is that an ass?" he asked.

"Yes," Don Juan said. "We'd call it a burro."

"I don't think we're dead," Harry said.

"How did you get here?" Don Juan asked. "That might be informative."

"A criminal named Hoffman cast a spell at an object that had some magical protection. I didn't know what kind of protection, I'd just been told to stand back if anyone cast that spell on it. I jumped between this blue gelatin-like light and my wife, and then I swam through the gelatin and found myself sitting next to you."

"Ahh, you're still a warrior, then," Don Juan said. "You're always putting your life between danger and the people who don't deserve to die. Are you a nobleman in your society?"

"Yes," Harry said. "I am the hereditary head of two noble families. I was a magical police officer, what we call an auror, then I was the leader of all the aurors. I was injured in the line of duty some months ago and have just returned to service."

"Well, as a warrior, and a nobleman of good character, you probably have trouble explaining your actions to your wife," Don Juan observed. "In my experience, if she is a good wife, she will feel anger towards you for the risks her warrior husband takes, but she will also know her noble husband is honor-bound to stand for right. That's why we have nobles to begin with. Is she a woman of good character?"

"The best," Harry said. "She comes from nobility herself but studied healing because she likes helping people. She is unimpeachable. Too good for me."

"How did you get here?" Harry asked.

"I'm lying in a hammock someplace in New Mexico, in a shady spot next to a little creek, and I've been chewing peyote but it's just about lost all its juice," Don Juan said. "It's such a beautiful spot, I wish I could show it to you, but to be honest, this is a lot more interesting. Do you and your wife have children?"

"Yes, thank you for asking," Harry said. "We have a daughter, Iolanthe Astoria. Not yet two years."

"Is she a little _bruja?_ " asked Don Juan, with a smile.

"Oh, she is the queen of the snakes," Harry laughed. "She spoke their language from birth. I discovered her gift when she was three days old. They all acknowledge her."

"Of course. It was prophesied," said Don Juan.

Harry turned his Anubis head and saw that Don Juan had become a snake. He was coiled up, with his tail sticking up over his back. Harry could see the diamond pattern and the rattles at the end of his tail.

"Yes, an adder told us. He wanted to meet Iolanthe. My wife was not pleased, but we talked about it," Harry said. He was speaking to a snake, so his English thoughts sounded very sibilant when they came out of his mouth.

Don Juan returned to his human form, stood up, and stretched.

"The peyote these days just doesn't have the staying power I remember from my apprenticeship," said Don Juan. "I would like to invite you back, any time you can come. I hope we have the opportunity to talk again. Don't risk your life to get here, Don Enrique. If you're supposed to come, the way will appear."

With that, Don Juan spread his arms wide and jumped off the cliff. Harry watched his white shirt and faded blue jeans get smaller and smaller as he got further from Harry and nearer the ground.

Harry wondered why his straw hat stayed on Don Juan's head. Don Juan's straw hat blew off his head. For a few moments Harry could watch both Don Juan and the hat make their way back to Earth, just before Don Juan winked out of existence. Harry stood there watching, until the burro took a little hop before quick-walking across the sand and brush toward the distant mountains.

Anubis stood up.

"This is called a mesa," he thought. He looked down at the side of the mesa and could just make out the places where he could put his feet to walk down to the level ground. If each of his steps were placed just so, it would be no more difficult than walking downstairs. Anubis had sandals but thought bare feet might be more stable, so he removed the sandals and carried them in one hand. He stepped off the mesa, his bare foot landing precisely within the outline of a foot on the stone. He took another step, then a third, then began hopping from spot to spot. Eventually he dispensed with the spots and hopped, looked for a place to land, then hopped again. Once he got his momentum up, it seemed it would be so much simpler just to fly, so he collected himself between launch and landing and sprang in the air, not bothering to come down.

Anubis spread his arms and discovered he liked the feel of the wind coming up under the skirt he wore. After a gentle landing on the hardpan, he leaned on his reed staff and slipped back into his sandals.

Anubis walked across the desert in sun, in cold and dry, and in snow. He wore only his skirt wrapped around him at the waist, and sandals. He usually carried his reed staff in one hand, parallel to the ground, moving it back and forth with his strides. He stepped off his path in a spring torrent and sank into a mud-bottomed puddle, up over his ankle and no sign of a hard bottom. Without breaking stride he put all his weight on his other foot and pulled up.

"Hun-nnh!" Harry Potter said, pulling his foot out of the mud as he looked down into Daphne's face. He was vaguely aware he was on top of her, so he got up being careful not to put weight anywhere except the bathroom floor and flew out to look at Hoffman, who appeared to be dead. Harry dashed back to the bath and held his hands out to Daphne, then pulled her to her feet.

"How long was I out?" he nearly shouted.

"You weren't out at all," Daphne said. "You pushed me into the bathroom and we kind of went down in a pile and you made that strange sound when you stood up. Let me check your crook. What in the world was that spell?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "I don't know who came up with it or who put it on that cylinder, but that is something I intend to find out. If that was an experiment I will have words with our minister."

"He's not dead, but he may be in some kind of state," Daphne said. "Pulse steady, respiration regular, pupils react to light. What does one do with an immobile magical criminal in New York City?"

Harry thought for a moment.

"Marigold must know the aurors. Can you run down and get the duty manager informed? This is New York, let them handle it. I'll keep a wand on him until you get back."

Daphne left and was back in minutes with a tall, thin witch. Harry thought immediately of Madame Ba back at Morgan le Fay's.

"He had gotten into the bathroom and came out with his wand up. He kept me in there until Harry got back and then he tried to rob us," Daphne explained.

"Let me get the aurors," said the manager, stepping out into the corridor. Harry heard 'precinct' and 'robbery' and caught a glimpse of an unidentified patronus dashing down the stairs.

No one was right nearby, so Harry thought it might be wise to pocket the cylinder. His instructions were to get it to Professor Goldstein, not turn it over to MACUSA's aurors. Liaison channels existed for that. His own ministry might not want to find out MACUSA's reaction to Harry transporting a dangerous item into the United States, whether for a solid common purpose, or not.

The aurors were able to apparate directly into Marigold's so they arrived in minutes.

"Gentlemen, I'm Harry Potter. Thank you for coming so quickly. This fellow got in somehow and wanted to rob us. He cast a spell and managed to get in his own way. Anyway, I'll leave him to you," Harry said.

"An honor, Mr. Potter," said one of the aurors. "I heard you speak at the seminar in London last year. Glad to see you're up and about. Have you seen this person before?"

Harry paused and considered his response. He did recognize Hoffman, although he had gotten his name slightly wrong, and he didn't want to be more misleading with the aurors than was absolutely necessary to protect his cargo. On the other hand, Hoffman was wanted internationally. One of the factors that had let him operate for so long was the scarcity of accurate information and photos. Harry had read the file on Hoffman and studied the photo, and knew almost as little when he'd finished as when he'd begun. The aurors who brought Hoffman in to any magical law enforcement organization would be legends among their peers. That prospect might be a bit of a distraction from establishing the actual cause for Hoffman's bold attack.

"Only in a photo," Harry said. "His name is Hoffman. Nothing in the file in London about a first name, birthplace, family, school, or previous convictions. He's been wanted for years, but no one has been able to catch him making a mistake, until now."

"Hoffman?" said the first auror.

He looked at his partner, who looked at Harry.

"Mr. Potter," said the second auror, "Are you saying this is _the_ criminal who goes by Hoffman? Jewel thief, vault-breaker Hoffman?"

"To the best of my knowledge, yes," Harry said. "When he showed himself, I called him Huffman, and mentioned the only known photo, which you've both probably seen, and he corrected my mangling of his name. He definitely called himself Hoffman."

Harry, an auror, was pretty sure he knew what was going on inside his American colleagues' heads. They were going to get credit for the arrest of a thirty-year career criminal.

"Do you want me to truss him up for transport?" Harry asked. "My wife is a healer, and she says he's all there, but he has obviously put himself in some kind of a state. I suppose that could change without notice?"

Harry made it a question and looked over at Daphne, who nodded.

The aurors looked at one another and some silent communication passed between them. Harry was thinking a couple of New York aurors would not like it to get around that they'd relied on him for something like immobilizing a prisoner for transport. His reading was accurate, and one of the aurors began casting something that resulted in a vine like Devil's Snare materializing and wrapping around and around the criminal Hoffman.

"That looks undefeatable," Harry said. "Looks like our work is done, Daphne."

"Thank you for the rapid response, gentlemen," Daphne said as she lit up the room with an adoring smile for the New Yorkers.

Harry extended his hand to both aurors in turn, leaving no additional details or loose ends that anyone could think of. Hoffman was raised up with a well-executed _levicorpus_ and the aurors departed, followed by Marigold's duty manager. Harry closed the door and put his finger to his lips, then cast _muffliato._

"I wanted to go out to eat, but this makes it mandatory. We'll leave and spend the night across the street. Hoffman may have found us on his own, or he may be working with someone. That person could be on to this hotel. Are you ready to go?" Harry asked.

"All set," Daphne said. "Should I take my purchases?"

"I think so," Harry answered. "You've even got a shopping bag, so we're just a couple of shoppers grabbing dinner on the way back home, or to the hotel."

Harry and Daphne left, shopping bag in hand. Harry had seen a magical pizza place on the neighborhood map from the room and thought he could navigate back to it. They were in New York, after all, the very definition of being on the grid. All right angles.

They did find the magical pizza place, in the end, but first they had to walk a complete circuit of a city block and see it from a slightly different angle than they had on their first pass-by. Harry attributed the extra circumnavigation as a tribute to the occlusionary work the owners had done on their magical establishment. Daphne was of the opinion that Harry was lost and got lucky the second time they went by.

The pizza was good, though. They had two small pies, one a margherita and one with extra cheese, chopped broccoli, spinach and green onions. They split a small house salad and a bottle of Italian mineral water.

The pizza place was pleasantly noisy. Harry and Daphne kept the conversation focused on the remainder of their trip, avoiding mention of batons, cylinders, and rebounding spells. Harry thought of rebounding spells and his conversation with the _brujo_ Don Juan. He considered what Don Juan had said about the outcome for Daphne of Harry's twin compulsions, to intervene personally to protect, and to stand for what is right. He wasn't sure how to phrase it, but he knew it was time for him to express his appreciation for her steadfastness in the face of his inability to stay out of dicey situations.

"When I got in that blue light," Harry began, "something happened. I can't explain it. I went to a place that looked like the American western movies. There were mountains, brushy plains, and a mesa. I sat on the edge of the mesa and talked to this old wizard. Now, maybe this is just coming up from deep inside my own head, I don't know, but Don Juan, the wizard, told me you probably get angry at me for putting myself in danger for others, but you also know, as a noble, I am honor-bound to stand for right. That is a difficult combination, and I resolved to tell you how much it means to me that you have the strength and patience to put up with it."

Daphne sat opposite Harry, a stunned look on her face. She leaned back against the booth.

"I think the typical couple gets here around their fortieth anniversary," Daphne said. "That is some deep understanding, Harry."

"Well, Don Juan was very old, so he had a lot more time to think these things through than I've had," Harry said. "Maybe he worked it all out with his wife over forty years and I just got the benefit of his insight. All I can say is, he described the two things I do that set you off, like he'd lived them himself. That's when I realized what my antics put you through, as if I were able to feel your feelings, and I resolved to pick my battles more carefully, and tell you regularly that your understanding keeps the world in balance."

Daphne had one hand on Harry's and the other around her water tumbler. She took a drink of the mineral water. Harry could see her eyes looked a little shiny. Daphne put the tumbler down and blinked once, twice. She leaned forward, her words only for Harry.

"You are a warrior, Harry, and you are a very good one," Daphne said. "Your heart is pure. I want you for myself. It's true, I'm that vain, I know it. Don Juan is right about honor. You are a noble, not from titles, because of your nature. I can't stop resenting it if you put yourself at risk, but my husband's honor is clean because he won't compromise with evil. Now that we've had this talk, we'll just keep each other balanced."

"Okay," said Harry. "I am mad for you, remember that for the next few minutes."

"Let me guess," Daphne said. "You aren't taking over as Potions Master at Hogwarts, are you?"

"No-o-o…" Harry said.

"But…" Daphne offered.

They sat in the booth, looking at each other.

"You figured it out? How?" Harry wanted to know.

"Lucky guess," Daphne said. "You're taking Slughorn's other job, aren't you?"

"Don't say anything, please," Harry nearly pleaded. "It's not public. How?"

"You're back in good health, Kingsley values your contributions, Slughorn must be ready for a rest, it's a department head job and you've got the time in to merit a promotion, Ralph Mann is doing well as Head Auror and you don't want to push him out, so there's that honor again," Daphne said. "What else?"


	12. Chapter 12

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Twelve

Harry Potter, Official Visitor

Harry was speechless.

"You…," he tried, before giving up and simply waving a hand.

Daphne was visibly delighted.

"Thank-you, Harry!" she said.

"Have you told anyone of your, ah, suspicions?" Harry asked.

"And spoil all the fun?" Daphne asked, just a bit incredulous. "Harry, tsk-tsk."

"Well, I don't know how long it will last, it's just that it solves several problems for Kingsley, all at once. He could come up with something he likes better six months from now, and that will be that," Harry summarized. "Now, tomorrow, I have a full morning, but if things go according to schedule, I'm done following lunch with Professor Goldstein at the faculty club. We have to coordinate return by port key. The first one is scheduled for two p.m., which would be seven at Greengrass Manor. With luck, the two o'clock port key could have us back in time for the Honorable Miss Iolanthe Astoria's dinner."

"Well, I have a little separate program planned, as you know," Daphne said. "There really is a conference right here, at Columbia. I think they'll allow me to register. How will we meet?"

"Have you been to MACUSA? The portkeys will be there, allegedly," said Harry.

"I've been there," Daphne said. "Could you confide in your counterpart that your wife will be along and would like to portkey back with you? I would hope they'd admit me, after I'd let them peruse my wand, but you never know. Security today, even at St. Mungo's…"

"I don't recall saying anything about an alleged counterpart," Harry said.

"You didn't need to," said Daphne. "You came all this way, and you'll be do-gooding for Ilvermorny and getting the return portkey arranged by MACUSA. You'll need to be on a first name basis with whomever you'll be working with, once you're sworn in. Besides, you are (Daphne leaned whisper-close) _Harry Potter_ and that person will want to meet you. Probably in the context of coffee with the MACUSA equivalent of the Head Auror, who you probably already know, considering your history."

"It says here," Harry said, reaching into his jacket and coming up with his schedule, "my transportation departs the hotel at seven and at seven-ten I commence being Madam President's guest for breakfast, there at MACUSA."

"He'll be at breakfast. He'll be at your table, along with the Head Auror, and the prez. She might have her Percy with her, or Hermione. Have you met either one of those?" Daphne asked.

"Percy's rough equivalent attended some meetings in London last year," Harry said. "I was on convalescent leave at the time, but Kingsley had me come to one meeting as a supernumerary because I was personally familiar with some subject matter that Ralph wasn't. Darn it, Daphne. How do you see it all so clearly?"

"Done?" Daphne asked, her face appearing just slightly smug. "Let's pay up and get some air. This is a delightful pizza joint but the oxygen is becoming a little too depleted for me."

Harry did some rough addition while he waited for the waiter to come by, pulled a few bills off his walking-around roll, and was ready to pay when the check arrived.

"I'll bring your change, sir," said the waiter.

"Not necessary," Harry said, reaching for Daphne's shopping bag as he stood.

"Thank-YOU, sir," the waiter said. "Please come back again."

The evening air was very pleasant outside. Harry pulled Daphne aside and waved his wand up and down before both of them, putting simple occlusionary and _muffliato_ charms in place so they could walk and talk with some privacy.

"To answer your question, it's all just watching organizations over time. They're all pretty much the same. My director knows his opposite number in the magical hospitals in the larger U.S. cities. I've met my counterpart in the major magical hospital here, once, and should probably start planning more trips and sending some invitations. Why should the ministry and MACUSA be any different?" Daphne asked.

"There are transnational magical phenomena that will be of interest to you both and you will need to coordinate," said Daphne. "At the same time, we healers get into situations that require conflict abatement. A British wizard could have a situation arise requiring treatment in the States or Canada. That could lead to disagreements due to differences in laws or healing culture. What would the probability be that something similar happens between your two offices, giving due consideration for the difference in subject matter?"

Harry sighed. "One hundred percent."

"It's not hard," Daphne said. "Human organizations tend to replicate their structures regardless of the issues they're established to address. Thus the range of institutional response is determined by the total set of possible responses. The positions get different labels but the function is the same."

"At least," Daphne said, "That is my theory, as a country bumpkin witch."

"Country bumpkin magical polymath, more likely," Harry said. "I do hope you'll have time to spend with me on this kind of conversation, between being the perfect mother for our precocious daughter and the chief of service. I think there may be some challenges ahead."

Daphne reached under Harry's arm, linking it with hers.

"That would not be a new situation for us, though, would it?" Daphne asked.

Harry was at a loss for a response. "No," seemed inadequate for the scope of Daphne's question.

After an uneventful night in their hotel, Harry and Daphne got up refreshed and looking forward to an interesting day. Daphne had gotten Harry a tie on her shopping expedition the day before, and he noticed the color scheme featured emerald green, a color to which Daphne was most partial.

"Slytherin?" Harry said, holding up the tie.

"Harry, honestly," Daphne said. "It's just a green tie. Look at the pin dots. Do you like pin dots, because I almost got you a navy tie with medium white dots. I got the green because it will make the green come out in your eyes."

Harry looked at the pin dots. They were amber. When Daphne was sufficiently angered, her blue-gray eyes turned amber. It didn't sound rational, but Harry had observed it personally, and just accepted it as one of those magical things for which there might not be an explanation.

A question about the color scheme of his tie occurred to him.

"Is this thing enchanted?" he asked.

"Sometimes, a tie is just a tie," Daphne responded, deftly not answering Harry's question.

Harry didn't judge. He accepted the possibility that Daphne had fitted him out with an enchanted tie, one that had the capability of keeping an eye on him for her, and that, at the very least, would be a little reminder of Daphne every time he looked at it. A nice, unobtrusive, just-between-Harry-and-Daphne talisman, he thought.

Of course, he also had to consider the alternate possibility that Daphne had just bought him a tie—a generic muggle tie in a dominant color that would go well with his eyes. Either way, he'd still get his regular dose of Daphne-recollection every time he looked at the tie.

Harry's escort and transportation was due at 0700, so he and Daphne left their room a few minutes before seven and went down to the lobby. Daphne knew her way to the Columbia campus and the conference. She planned to walk across town, using some occlusion to be discreet. Both she and Harry thought that would be sufficient as a security measure.

MACUSA was housed in an unplottable building. Harry had visited twice before, on official working trips, and still questioned his ability to find it on his own. The transportation arrangements referred to in his schedule worked perfectly, though, and he was soon being greeted in the lobby of the president's office suite, followed by a short walk to a private dining room. Harry was seated between the president and his counterpart.

The functions of magical and muggle governments do not match up precisely, so it would be a mistake to assume that Horace Slughorn, and his successor, Harry Potter, were equivalent to muggle intelligence directors. There were some elements that were very similar, but the nature of magic meant the spectrum of concerns was much broader for magical departments.

Harry, looking around the table after the introductions, was only semi-surprised to see that Daphne's prediction was, by and large, correct. The president of MACUSA was to his left, and his counterpart director to his right. The president's assistant, roughly the position equivalent to Percy Weasley's junior minister slot, was next, then the head auror. Daphne even anticipated Hermione's equivalent, MACUSA's Director of the Bureau of Research. The director sat through breakfast without saying a word, although he did nod, shrug, smile, and adopt a serious demeanor at appropriate times.

Harry thought he was prepared for Ilvermorny, having read a pile of information Hermione had sent over on the school's origins and history through the years. He was mistaken. Harry was barely able exchange greetings with the school director after he and the PMACUSA arrived by port key. It was well-known among magicals that Ilvermorny sat on a mountain whose peak was perpetually obscured by fog. What Harry had not expected was a fogless view from the top of the mountain looking out and down on the surrounding countryside.

"Don't worry, Mr. Potter," said the school director. "We have all had trouble with the view when we first arrive."

"Sunny uplands," Harry said.

"Always a treat," said the president.

The director conducted the party to the faculty lounge, where the president and Harry were introduced to the faculty and staff. Ilvermorny had a dining hall of similar size to Hogwarts', and the students and faculty convened there for the ceremonial check presentation.

Harry was introduced and made appropriate remarks, encouraging all the students with an interest in magical education to consider applying for the Dumbledore Fellowship, and come to Hogwarts or Beauxbatons for a year. The director accepted the check and said a few appreciative words about his late friend and colleague Albus Dumbledore, and used the occasion to quote Dumbledore regarding looking for the light when it seems darkest.

Harry thought he remembered Dumbledore making that comment at the start of term feast for his sixth year. If the director didn't get Dumbledore's words just right, he was fairly close, and the sentiment was truly heartfelt. With the convocation complete, the president returned to New York via port key, and Harry was turned over to the director for a tour of Ilvermorny.

Harry enjoyed the tour. Ilvermorny was not encrusted with a thousand years of patinated treasures that were magically significant or simply too precious to clean, paint, adapt or move out to make room for something new. There was plenty of history about, but Ilvermorny's students, faculty and alumni had also kept up with evolving notions of design, architecture and color palettes. Harry found the jumble of styles and ideas somehow, however unlikely, to be a harmonious record of the generations of creative witches and wizards who had passed through Ilvermorny over the years.

It was the quidditch pitch, though, that really piqued Harry's interest. Over the years, Hogwarts' pitch had been modified for Tri-Wizard tournaments, destroyed by dragons, leveled in battle, and yet, somehow, managed to be repaired and rebuilt looking exactly the same. Harry had seen new lumber delivered and finished grandstands made from the lumber looking exactly like the old wrecks they'd replaced. Harry knew it had to be for supernatural reasons, but he'd never sorted out just how. From time to time he thought of asking Hermione to task her Unspeakables with a little research, but it always slipped his mind.

Ilvermorny, on the other hand, sported a perfectly-groomed pitch enclosed in a concrete oval. The seats for partisans of the different houses were picked out in their house colors. The remainder had faculty, family, and general admission sections, also designated by the color of the commodious seats. The school director, the flying instructor, and the quidditch captains were Harry's guides and escorts. They proudly showed him the individual house dressing and locker rooms, the physical education offices, visitors' dressing rooms, and the first aid unit. It was the pitch, though, that stopped Harry in his tracks.

The party walked onto the field through the same tunnel the competitors used. In the instant Harry stepped out of the shade of the tunnel into the sunlight that drenched the emerald green field, he was transported back to Hogwarts and his entrances there. Two teams were scrimmaging, the seekers high above, tossing a captured snitch in the air, capturing it, and tossing it up again for the next seeker.

Harry stood watching, involved in the beauty of the game, the seeming chaos of bludgers and quaffles, beaters and chasers that was, somehow, played at their level of skill, as regular as clockworks.

"Broom, Mr. Potter?" asked one of the captains, extending his hand.

Harry looked at the late model Firebolt. He knew he shouldn't, but he automatically accepted, aligned himself with the broomstick and kicked off. The first few players who saw Harry launch held up hands and started calling out "Stop play, stop play!" to the others. Quaffles were tucked under arms and beaters went after bludgers to keep them clear of the visitor. Harry circled the outer perimeter of the pitch on his way up to the seekers. There were four, altogether, two from each team. Two of the four were showing signs of recent injuries, so Harry surmised the others were the reserves who were getting a little playing time while their teammates awaited their medical clearances.

Harry stopped and shook hands with each seeker in turn. He was invited and promised to attend a game at Ilvermorny next season. On his way back down to the ground, Harry spoke to each of the beaters, chasers and keepers, just to make it even for everyone. As he landed at the field end of the tunnel, Harry looked up and saw a familiar face a short way into the stands.

Done flying, Harry handed his borrowed Firebolt back to its owner.

"Thanks!" he said. "Firebolts are still the best, if you ask me."

"Once in awhile, our flying instructor approves an informal game, students, alumni, distinguished visitor…" said the captain.

"If I can get away," Harry said, "I'll be here."

The party turned toward the tunnel.

"And that's the grand tour, Mr. Potter," said the director, summing up.

"Well, that was impressive," Harry said. "I'm glad I came, and I'll look forward to returning."

Harry wasn't surprised to see Blaise waiting outside the exit from the stands. He'd been given to understand, at breakfast, his transport to Princeton was arranged, and he'd be informed of the details a little closer to his actual departure. Somehow, Blaise seemed to be the obvious choice to show him to his ride, whatever form that might take.

"Harry," Blaise said, as the party approached him on the gravel path.

"Blaise," Harry said. "You're getting me to Princeton? I mentioned it at breakfast, but Daphne is going to be showing up this afternoon looking to hitch a ride home with me. Know anything about that?"

"Yes, and yes," Blaise said. "Once the final farewells are over, you'll get a port key and Professor Goldstein will welcome you to Princeton. There's a tour and lunch. You should be back to MACUSA well before the two p.m. port key activates."

"Let me proceed with the final formalities, then," Harry said.

"Mr. Director, it seems my ride is here," Harry said. "Do we have any more of your excellent program to complete?"

"Oh, not at all, Mr. Potter," said the director. "If you're all set we'll just part here."

"My distinguished classmate, Mr. Zabini, is ready to take me in hand, then," Harry said. "Please keep Professor McGonagall informed of any opportunities for further cooperation. I'm sure she'll be interested."

There followed a round of handshakes that included Blaise and resulted in some 'Nice to meet you' and 'Sorry to see you go so soon' sentiments. Blaise and Harry left with a final wave and walked up onto a little knob that looked out over a wide valley bracketed by wooded slopes and finished off with a tiny silver ribbon of river at the bottom.

"Nice, but Hogwarts has all of that history," Blaise observed.

"True," Harry said, then, with a little regret evident in his voice, "but that quidditch pitch…"

"Change of subject," Harry went on. "How much time do I have?"

Blaise checked his watch, reached in his pocket and pulled out a tie clip, which he fastened onto Harry's tie.

"A little under two minutes," he said.

"Ah," Harry said, "That should give you time to explain what you were doing in Fort de France, just hanging out on the street right across from an obscure building that ought to be falling down, if it weren't for the magic holding it up."

"Private trip, Harry," Blaise said. "I like the Caribbean. I've been to Guadeloupe a few times. I saw the front windows of that building flash green, so I strolled over to keep an eye on it. You just told me you were in Fort de France as well. What were you doing there?"

Harry looked closely at Blaise. He decided that Blaise knew enough and had been around him enough to have already done Harry any harm he might have wanted to do, so he might as well trust him now.

"Daphne knows the floos for Fabio's offices" Harry said. "She suggested taking those instead of the port key from the Blacks' in case that was compromised. Pretty good thinking, since I was told I was moving the item because word had leaked. I don't know how widely known those connections are, so I'd appreciate you keeping quiet about them. You never know. I might need a contingency plan someday."

"Don't worry," Blaise said. "Getting on the wrong side of the Greengrass family is not a life goal of mine."

It was almost time for the port key to activate. Harry looked down at the tie clip and had just enough time to see that the medallion on the end of the gold bar was a Slytherin Quidditch Captain pin.

"Blaise! What the…" he began, as the port key whisked him off to Princeton, New Jersey. The last thing he saw was the look of delight on Blaise' face.

"Welcome, Harry," said Robert Goldstein, extending his hand. Harry had done pretty well on his landing but did drop to one knee.

"Great to be here, nice to see you again, Professor," Harry said.

"Can we be Robert and Harry?" the professor asked. "It's up to you, but it simplifies things."

"I'd prefer it, actually," Harry said.

"Good," said Robert. "Now, we're headed this way. What do you know about Princeton?"

"Well, it's a prestigious American university, part of the Ivy League, Bill Bradley, Robert Oppenheimer, Albert Einstein and Scott Fitzgerald all have connections, somehow," Harry said, exhausting his knowledge of Princeton.

"Very good," Robert said. "You probably have more information right there than ninety percent of my fellow citizens. We also claim James Madison and Woodrow Wilson, at least for now. Alan Turing did graduate work here, as did the Professor James Potter who got you out of that time stream incident last year."

"Then I owe Princeton one of those unpayable debts," Harry said, only half in jest.

"The circle of the knowing is quite small, Harry," Robert said. "I don't think I'd be worrying about the chit getting called in.

"Now, here's the building where the lab is."

Robert Goldstein's lab was spare and clean, giving the impression it housed people who knew what they were doing and went about their business without a lot of wasted effort, motion or materials.

"Got it?" the professor asked.

Harry reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out the little cylinder.

"Be careful with that," Harry said. "Someone put a little spell on it. It was energized last night and I lived in one of your deserts for several seasons with a dog's head in place of mine."

Professor Goldstein froze.

"No one told me about a spell. How did it get activated?" he asked.

" _Finite incantatem._ It activates a protective spell. I've never seen it before," Harry said.

"Hmm…" said the professor. "I wonder if it should even be placed in stasis? It could react to that. Maybe the thing to do is to lock it up until we know more. Want to see our secure storage?"

"Sure," Harry said. "One never knows when one will need a friend with that kind of an asset. I might give you a tie clip for safekeeping."

Robert gave Harry a look, turning back to what was obviously a heavily-reinforced door, then punching in a series of numbers on the adjacent keypad. Robert led the way inside, holding the door for Harry.

"This is it," Robert said. The windlowless room held various kinds of secure containers along one wall, a work table and several swivel chairs. "What is this tie clip?"

Harry started to laugh.

"This!" he said, fingering the tie clip Blaise had given him. "It was the port key that brought me from Ilvermorny to Princeton. Blaise has a sense of humor. The little crest on the end is the Quidditch Captain's pin from Slytherin House, the arch-rival of my house, Gryffindor, whose quidditch team I captained, back in the day.

"Blaise is going to pay. I don't know how just yet, but Blaise is going to pay," Harry vowed.

"I get it," Robert said. "You had me going for a bit.

"Well, should we look at our item?" Robert asked. "My information was you would be carrying a baton. I assumed it would be in something, for travel. I didn't anticipate the shrinking charm."

"This is how it came to me," Harry said. "I was told it had been shrunk, and a little safety charm added that would give me a chance to escape if I were forced to give it up. Casting _finite incantatem_ was supposed to cause some kind of a surprise for the person who cast it. Therefore, I could tell whomever to use _finite incantatem_ and try to drop or jump behind something and let the unauthorized person get the jinx or hex or whatever it is."

"Properly magical," said Robert, with a note of approval in his voice. "I propose we lock up your item here until we can get some information on both it and the protective measures. Of course, you're still in possession, so if you want, you could take it back to your ministry. Do you plan to demand satisfaction?"

Harry burst out laughing. He reached out and picked up the alleged shrunken obsidian case with shrunken ceremonial baton inside.

"No, I think one of your safes would be fine. Is there one for which you have sole access?" Harry asked.

"Yes," the professor said, kneeling before a small gray file cabinet with a rotary combination lock set in the top drawer. After working the combination he opened the top drawer and removed what appeared to be a small cash box. He opened the box and looked inside.

"This is empty," he said, holding it out. Harry took the box and placed it on the table. He put the little black cartridge in the box and closed it. The box was equipped with a little pro forma lock that could easily be forced with a screwdriver. Harry looked around and found a cellophane tape dispenser. Removing the roll of tape, he wrapped it several times around the box in both directions.

"Do you have one of those black markers?" Harry asked.

The professor looked around.

"Doubt it," he said. "People come in here mostly to unlock and lock up."

"That's fine," Harry said, "This'll do."

Harry drew his wand and pointed it at all the places where the wraps of tape intersected, leaving a blob of red wax at each one.

"Good?" Harry asked. "I'll know if it's disturbed. Now, let's see…"

Harry passed his wand over the box, looking and feeling for an indication that magic was at work around, or inside. If there was anything, it didn't make his wand hum, jump or vibrate.

"I'd say lock it up and we're done," Harry said, "Unless you've got something else you want to do with it. I apologize for coming unequipped to put this all to rest."

"Don't worry about it," said the professor, "Although I was looking forward to taking it apart. Kind of like my grandfather's watch, when I was eight. Ready for lunch?"

Professor Goldstein put the small box with the cylinder back in the two drawer cabinet and closed it up. He took his time, using his wand to cause the dial to spin right, then back left, then right, then back left. He reached down and tried the handle, but couldn't open the drawer.

"Anything further you'd like to see in the lab?" Robert asked.

"Anything you care to show me?" Harry asked. "If you can keep it simple, that is."

"Sure," Robert said. "I work on atoms and the particles that make atoms, or the bits that show up when an atom comes apart. That means working on the forces that hold everything together. That's how you and I met. This lab is where we work out the questions we want to answer through experimentation."

"I need to go back to school," Harry said.

"Why not go back, then?" Robert said. "A few people over here, me among them, have been briefed on the upcoming handover. You'll need to account for your time somehow, if you follow the line Horace has laid out. You aren't a Hogwarts professor. Give it some thought."

"Daphne would probably like it," Harry said. "Eventually, I'd be able to carry on an intelligent conversation."

Robert thought that was pretty funny.

"I think you know you can carry on an intelligent conversation, Harry," he said. "You just have some subject matter gaps that you haven't had time to tidy up. You've been busy with other things. Thinking a step ahead of Gellert Grindelwald so you'll be ready for him at the other end of some time travel, to name just one example. You might be the only person on this planet with the knowledge to do that, and the presence of mind to set it up."

"You know," Harry said, "I'm going to look into this when I get back home. Where do we go next?"

"The Faculty Club…"

They didn't make it to the Faculty Club just then, for the door burst open and a woman with a serious look on her face came in, wand out, and slammed the door behind her.

" _Muffliato!"_ she said, giving her wand a little flick before turning it back on Harry and Robert.

"Annette," Robert said, "This is a surprise."

"Shut up, Robert!" the woman said. "I'm here to pick up whatever this gentleman brought. It's small, and black. Where is it?"

"Locked up," said the professor. "Harry, this is my colleague, Annette Oiseau, of the English Department, despite her name. Annette is a star among the Shakespeareans, perhaps the world's foremost authority on Macbeth, at least until the next scholarly paper is published, sending her back to the First Folio. Annette, have you met Harry Potter?"

"A pleasure, Madame Bird," Harry said. "I like Macbeth. It has witches."

"Harry Potter, I've always wanted to meet you," said Ms. Oiseau. "I'd have preferred more congenial circumstances. Now, where is the thing you brought all this way?"

"Professor," Harry said, "We were just about to go to lunch, at the Faculty Club. I would like to invite you to accompany us, and perhaps you could give us a briefing on what you're after, who sent you, why you feel obligated to carry out their orders, and so on. That would all be very, very helpful to my understanding of your needs. Maybe we can work out a compromise."

"No," said the witch, "Robert is going to get that thing out of wherever he's got it locked up then I'm going to wipe your memories and walk out of here."

She made a little pointing gesture with the tip of her wand, indicating Harry and Robert were to go back into the secure room. Robert sidestepped over to the door, keeping his hands up and in plain sight.

"I have to work the keypad," he said, waiting for Professor Oiseau to nod her permission.

Harry and Robert reversed their steps and shortly had the room unsecured, the locking file cabinet open, and the little black cylinder of obsidian out of the cash box.

"That's it," Harry said, nodding at the cylinder.

Robert and Harry made eye contact. Harry moved his eyes to look at the door, then back to Robert, then back to the door. Robert moved back from the work table, a half-step at a time, backing slowly toward the exit.

"That's it?" asked Annette Oiseau.

"That's it," Harry said. "Right about now you're thinking, 'What is so important about this that they'd send me to get it and expose me and blow my cover sky-high?' Don't feel lonely, Professor, lots of people have hit the same bump in the road. Me among them! How ironic is that?"

Harry laughed at his own joke.

"But—" the professor began.

"The deal is, this little guy was shrunk for transport. The reversal is simple, _finite incantatem,_ which cancels the shrinking charm and lets you get the goodies. The goody, I should say. There's a kind of ebony club inside this, if you want it," Harry advised. "If you don't know that one, I can do it for you."

Professor Oiseau had no reason to question Harry's word, and she thought she might like to see the little cylinder full-size. She could always shrink it back. She was a qualified witch, after all. She had used _finite incantatem_ since she'd learned it back at Ilvermorny, she didn't need some British magical celebrity to show her how to cancel out a charm.

Harry let her get as far as ' _finite in—'_ before he dived at Robert, aiming to take them both back out through the door of the secure room.

This time, Harry and Professor Goldstein both swam up through the blue gelatin, looking for some air.

"NOT AGAIN!" Harry shouted, as he lost consciousness and looked around in what appeared to be a little club. He saw a band stand with a band, a bar with bottles behind it, and a spotless kitchen visible through a large opening behind the bar, some very nicely-done neon lights hung on the walls, and some tables and chairs.

Harry found that he was actually sitting on a chair, with Professor Robert Goldstein sitting to his left. To his right was an old white-haired man wearing a white dress shirt over khaki trousers.

"Where are we?" Harry asked the old man.

"Las Cruces," said Don Juan.

"New Mexico," he added, as an afterthought.

Harry turned to Robert.

"Can you see him?" he asked, indicating Don Juan.

"Yes," Robert said. "He's kind of an elderly, distinguished looking gentleman."

"Do you recognize him?" Harry asked.

"No, should I?" Robert asked in turn. "Robert."

"Juan," said Don Juan, extending his hand across Harry. "Are you in the same line of work as Don Enrique?"

"There is some overlap," Robert said. "Who's the band?"

"Some nice boys who come over from Texas," said Don Juan. "I come to see them at least once whenever they're in town."

"Do you live in Las Cruces?" Robert asked. "I've come to a few things at your university here. I'm a physicist."

"I do a little work with the Anthropology Department," Don Juan said. "There is a lot of material for anthropologists in New Mexico. Now, Harry, what have you been doing since I left you on the mesa?"

"I climbed about halfway down the mesa, before I decided to chuck it all and just fly the rest of the way. Then I wandered in the desert for several seasons, as Anubis, I guess, before I sank into a mudhole during a rain. When I pulled myself out of the mud I was back in New York. My wife and I found the guy who cast the spell that made the blue light, called the New York aurors, and turned him over to them.

"I went to the Ilvermorny school this morning, then on to Princeton, and Robert here took charge of that stupid little piece of obsidian with the tricky charm on it. We settled our business and were on our way to lunch when another prospective thief burst in and we got her to cast the same spell," Harry finished.

"Can I ask you a question, Don Juan?" Harry asked.

"Of course," said the old _brujo._

"When I woke up after our adventure, no time had passed. Why is that?"

"I can't say for sure," said Don Juan. "You looked an awful lot like Anubis, so if you'd taken on the aspect of Anubis, you might have been subject to some other attributes, and an inhabitant of the underworld might not have any use for time. Or, it could have just been one of those things where you have to come back to the moment you left because otherwise the temporal balance sheets won't stand up in an audit."

"Don Juan, the last time I came back, it happened all at once, without warning, so, if you have anything to tell us…" Harry said.

"Your wife is right outside the door," said Don Juan.

Harry looked at the entrance and saw Daphne pull the club door open and step into the lab, wand drawn, amber eyes aflame.

"What do you mean, 'Not Again?'" she demanded.

Harry and Robert picked themselves up from the floor of Robert's lab.

"And who is SHE?" Daphne said, pointing with her wand at an unconscious woman slumped over the table in the secure room.

"Professor Annette Oiseau, who just tried to do the same thing Hoffman did, rob us," Harry said. "So, introductions! Daphne, this is Anthony's Uncle Robert, or, Professor Robert Goldstein, of Princeton University. Robert, may I present my wife, Daphne Greengrass Potter."

"Glad to meet you, Doctor," said Robert. "I feel like I know you, Anthony has told me so much about you, and your daughter."

Daphne was a bit put out with Harry, but the action was concluded, it appeared, and he wasn't any the worse for wear. She decided to take care of one little detail.

"Accio!" she said, catching Annette Oiseau's wand as it came flying out of the secure storage room.

"Now what?" Harry said, looking at Robert.

"Campus police have a liaison desk. Princeton, you know," Robert shrugged. " _Expecto patronum!"_

Some kind of mammal Harry didn't recognize coalesced from the light that sprang from Robert Goldstein's wand.

"Go get Walter over at campus security and give him a message: 'Walter, it's Robert. Someone over here at the lab is going to need a ride home, if you could help out,'" the professor said, and the patronus leapt through a window and was gone.

"Well," Harry said, looking at his watch. "If we lock that thing up one more time, we've still got plenty of time for lunch."


	13. Chapter 13

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Thirteen

Harry and Daphne Tidy Up Their Business

Harry and Robert repeated their security measures one more time. Robert put the little obsidian cylinder in the lockbox, Harry wrapped the tape both ways and put more blobs of sealing wax where the courses of tape crossed, and Robert put the whole thing in the locking file and re-spun the dial.

Harry told Daphne the short version of his visit to Princeton, up to the point she came through the door to the lab, then had a question for her.

"How'd you know to come here?" he asked.

"Tie," Daphne said, gesturing.

Harry looked and saw that the pin dots on his emerald green tie had changed from amber to white.

"I asked my patronus to stay with your tie and come get me if you needed help," Daphne said. Harry and Robert stood silently, looking at her.

"How—"

"I didn't know—"

"It likes to keep busy. It likes being useful," Daphne said. "You told me that yourself."

"Not complaining," Harry said, holding up his hands in surrender. "That was very creative of you. Wonderful magic."

"Indeed," Robert said. "I'm going to have to learn how to do that myself."

The campus security liaison official arrived.

"Walter," Professor Goldstein said. "Come on in. We've had an incident."

Walter looked between Annette, Harry and Daphne, giving Robert a little questioning look at the end.

"Oh, forgive me," the professor said. "These nice people are a magical couple from the UK, Doctor Daphne Greengrass and her husband, Harry Potter. Folks, my colleague Walter, from campus security."

"And Professor Oiseau?" Walter asked.

"Harry was getting the grand tour," Robert said. "He'd brought me some experimental material, which we'd secured, and Annette showed up and wanted to take it by force. She cast a spell and got in the way. She's been like that ever since."

"Just like that?" Walter asked.

"Pretty much," Robert said, looking at Harry, who nodded his concurrence.

"You're a medical doctor?" Walter asked, looking at Daphne.

"Yes," she said. "I've seen just one other case like this, but no permanent damage was apparent, as far as I was able to follow the case. Do you have a healer on staff?"

Walter and Robert both nodded.

"Here's her wand," Daphne said, holding it out to Walter.

"What could have gotten into her?" Robert asked, shaking his head.

"Anything we can do to help?" Harry asked. "Don't want to overstep our bounds."

"Our healer has a little clinic. That's where she belongs, so I'll get a couple of the liaison staff to help me get her over there," Walter said. "I did not foresee Professor Oiseau coming to our attention, at least not like this."

Walter had his assistance onsite in short order, freeing the party to carry out their lunch plans.

Robert had booked a small private dining room at the faculty club, and an extra place for Daphne was no trouble at all.

Harry wondered if Daphne got done what she wanted at the conference. She observed that she was done with the conference as soon as her patronus showed up, so it hardly made a difference at that point. Robert complimented Daphne on her rings, and if he wasn't completely ignorant of his nephew's role in getting the rings made by the Goldsteins' goblin contacts, he made a darn good show of it.

The return to Greengrass Manor was much less eventful than the earlier part of the trip. Robert took delivery of a package from a waiter while they were still at the faculty club. He showed Harry and Daphne the way to a discreet apparation point and they traveled to MACUSA by port key.

Harry's counterpart met them in the lobby, took them to a very private part of the building and gave them another port key, which they used to take them to Cornwall, and the Black estate, that having been the starting point, according to the original plan. Then it was a simple matter to use apparation for the last bit of travel, and they were soon walking down the slope to the talking gate.

"Well, our travelers are home once again!" said the gate. "When will the bard have the saga ready for the mead hall?"

"Sometimes, talking gate, you cause me to formulate threats I could throw at you," Harry said.

"Embrace the quaintness, Oh…what are you these days, anyway?" asked the gate. "It is so hard keeping up."

"A simple citizen, talking gate. An obscure member of the Wizengamot. Strictly a back-bencher," Harry answered.

"Oh, that's very original," said the gate. "G'night."

Trix met Harry and Daphne at the front door, welcomed them back, and stepped out of the way of Raffles' charge. Daphne scooped him up, only to hand the Bichon off to Harry when the slap-slap-slap of toddler feet sounded in the front hall.

"Mum-mum!" shouted Iolanthe, her face showing signs of very recent consumption of a carrot or squash puree.

"Iolanthe Astoria!" said Daphne, trying not to over-squeal. "Oh, I missed you so much. You've been on my mind for all this time. Should we go find your grandparents?"

Fabio and Kendra were in the sunny room by the patio. It wasn't sunny, but it wasn't fully dark quite yet, either.

"Hullo, all," called Daphne from the doorway. She walked over to Kendra and kissed her cheek, then held Iolanthe on her hip while she used her free arm to give Fabio's shoulder a kind of semi-hug.

Iolanthe looked at Harry and said, "Da-da!"

Everyone agreed that was indeed Da-da.

Then she added, "Sy-OSS!"

"Is Da-da a snake?" Harry asked.

Iolanthe pointed at Harry's tie clip.

"Sy-OSS!" she said.

Harry looked at Daphne.

"Like father, like daughter," she said, with a little shake of the head. "What is on that anyway?"

Daphne moved closer to Harry and focused on his Slytherin Quidditch Captain tie clip.

"Harry? Is Flint missing a tie clip?" Daphne semi-demanded.

"Hardly. Well, truthfully, I really don't know," Harry said. "Blaise brought me the port key to get me from Ilvermorny to Princeton. This is it. He looked quite pleased with himself, seeing me wink out of existence as the port opened."

Daphne started to laugh, which got Iolanthe laughing along with her.

Harry removed the clip from his tie and gave it a close inspection. It appeared the little medallion had indeed been a pin, but had been mounted on the gold tie clip so some previous captain could keep wearing it after finishing school.

"This will probably get me a good table at Morgan le Fay's," Harry said. "I probably shouldn't take it so lightly."

Fabio and Kendra were done with dinner, desert and coffee, but Trix had some sandwiches and pumpkin juice ready for the travelers in no time. Daphne sat with Iolanthe on her lap, succeeding in getting the odd spoonful of yellow vegetable puree accepted from time to time, but mostly dividing her time between bites of sandwich and dodging stray puree from Iolanthe's well-supplied fingers.

"Want a cleanup?" Harry asked.

"Da-da," said Iolanthe, reaching out. Harry took her from Daphne and headed upstairs.

"What has been going on here?" Daphne asked.

"We saw the young Malfoys today," Kendra reported. "Scorpius watches everything that goes on around him and comments in gibberish. Then he wants an answer."

"How did Astoria look?" Daphne asked.

"Good," Kendra said. "She's not as pale as she was. We were outside most of the time and she kept up with Scorpius and the rest of us just fine. Draco won't let her do much. If she's got Scorpius, he's offering to take him. If she says she's going to get a glass of water, he heads for the house."

"He's concerned," Daphne said. "Better that than the opposite."

"You're so right, Daphne," said Fabio. "You and Astoria are very fortunate. Some of the things we hear…"

He broke off with a slight head-shake. Fabio wasn't one to gossip. He was a bit old-fashioned and liked being the acknowledged head of his household. He was used to a bit of deference from his wife and daughters. His sons-in-law listened when he went on about his gardening and life lessons he'd picked up, which he both appreciated and expected in his position of an elder.

At the same time, he loved his family and was put off by men who took too much pleasure, in his view, in dominating theirs, and he had no respect for anyone who used physical force as a routine part of home life.

Harry came back, leaning over so Iolanthe could hang onto a finger. She walked on her own, but still loved taking a finger and directing adults this way and that.

"Aren't you about ready for bed, Iolanthe?" asked Daphne.

"No," said Iolanthe, using one of her favorite words.

Harry sat and Iolanthe immediately began climbing onto his lap, whence she looked at Daphne in defiance, toddler hands clutching bunches of Harry's shirt.

Harry's patronus bounded through the glass and stood shimmering in the sunny room.

"Horace Slughorn here, Harry," said a voice. "Kingsley's invited us for breakfast, his office, tomorrow at seven. I'm afraid we had to make it a bit early so I could get back to school and stick to the class schedule."

The stag dissolved, and Harry felt a little vibration in his wand.

"I sent it to Slughorn to let him know we were back," Harry said, answering Daphne's silent question. "With hopes, of course, he'd give up some insight, but as you just saw…"

Harry turned to Kendra and Fabio.

"You might as well know," Harry said, "We took something to the States, for safekeeping. There were two robbery attempts in a few hours' time. One involved Daphne getting held at wandpoint…"

"Until Harry came in and maneuvered the master criminal into immobilizing himself, allowing us to turn him over to the New York aurors," Daphne interrupted, taking over the narrative. "Then he magnanimously let the lads have the collar."

Harry couldn't hold it in. He managed not to laugh at Daphne's employment of crime novel jargon, but smiled through a little snort of amusement.

"He's been a career criminal for thirty years, at least," Harry said. "Only one known photo, no pattern to the crimes. He made life difficult for aurors on both sides of the ocean. Those guys are probably going to get awards for bringing him in. That might buy me a little good will someday.

"And, just so you know you have this asset at hand, should you ever need it, Daphne did some very creative magic today, and had her patronus inhabit my necktie, just in case I got in a jam, and while I was momentarily unconscious, it went back and summoned Daphne to come to my aid," Harry went on. "It was brilliant."

"Very good, Daphne," said Fabio.

"Indeed," Kendra added, "I don't think you learned that in school. Did it just occur to you?"

"Pretty much," Daphne said, not looking at anyone. "It seemed logical enough, if the patronus had the capability. It was worth a try. If it lacked the capability, nothing would happen and we'd just be where we started. But it worked just fine."

"Amazing," said Kendra.

"Mum-mum," Iolanthe said.

Iolanthe didn't last much longer, and Harry and Daphne followed her straight to bed.

"Want to come tomorrow morning?" Harry asked. "You can go to St. Mungo's from the ministry. I'm sure Kingsley would be happy to get your insights."

"Thank-you for asking," Daphne said. "They may have other subject matter on the agenda, and I'd just get in the way. Tell the minister I'm available if they need me."

Harry slept well, but not long. He was up at five, found some sweatpants and a pair of trainers and went out to find a lane and get the kinks out. By six-fifteen he was sitting on the patio with a coffee and a big tumbler of mineral water, compliments of the tireless and efficient Trix. Daphne arrived, wearing the crimson and gold bath robe over her nightgown.

"Isn't it a bit chilly?" she asked.

"Unseasonably warm," Harry answered. "I'll sit with you, if you want to stay inside."

Daphne wasn't going to the ministry for breakfast, so she had hers, after apologizing for eating in front of Harry. Harry advised her, as politely as he could, not to be silly.

Harry and Horace Slughorn arrived via floo in the ministry atrium at the same time.

"Well," said Slughorn, "Perfect timing."

"I guess we'll just go on up," Harry said, "Since we're all here."

Harry, Slughorn and Kingsley Shacklebolt took all the time they needed to cover the trip and a little additional business, and not a minute more. Kingsley was a master of meeting management. Harry resolved, as he did every time they met, to pay close attention and learn all he could from Kingsley. He realized he was getting free lessons in how to operate the bureaucracy, lessons not taught in any school.

"If it's not too close-hold," Harry said, "May I ask if I actually transported the baton to Princeton?"

Kingsley looked at Slughorn. "Oh, go ahead," he said.

"Not exactly," said Slughorn. "The baton inside the cylinder was a replica. Everything is there except the actual memories Daphne took from Grindelwald. Those are still in the sealed baton with the Unspeakables, unless Hermione has taken them out to play with."

"We suspected a leak, Harry," Kingsley continued. "It certainly looks like you and Daphne confirmed we had one. Or have one. Whether we can follow it back from Hoffman and Professor Oiseau is another question. Their minds might have been tampered with. They might not know who they're working for, or why. If they can't give that up, we'll reconstruct what we can of their movements, see if we can put them in the same place, or talking to the same person."

"The point is, Harry, you confirmed something we suspected," Slughorn went on. "The baton is important, but, to be honest, any witch or wizard who wanted to could have done the work and come to Grindelwald's conclusions at any time since Einstein's papers were published. The ongoing concern is how the word got out. That problem still remains."

They didn't have a lot of time to linger over breakfast, with Slughorn's class schedule, and before long Harry was back at Greengrass Manor, walking around with the Honorable Miss Iolanthe Astoria.

Harry didn't have any plans other than keeping Iolanthe happy until Daphne returned from St. Mungo's. The weather was very nice, sunny and cool, so Harry got Iolanthe into a sweater and some leggings and took her out to the gardens. Iolanthe was in her element in a garden, because she had learned gardens have snakes, and she was always eager to meet up with her friends.

Harry walked slowly up and down Fabio's garden paths with Iolanthe and Raffles, getting guidance from time to time, as Iolanthe reached for an adult finger with one hand and pointed out the desired change of direction with the other. Raffles stayed with the party, as a sort of scout, going into the beds to look for danger, gnomes, and threats of unknown origin.

If there were snakes up and about, they must have been sluggish, because none came out to pal around with Iolanthe. Disappointment set in, detectable at first by a little petulance as they passed bed after bed with no herpetological action. Eventually, Iolanthe was simply done with their walkabout, and refused to go further. Harry turned to go back to the house, looked down, and found he no longer was walking with Iolanthe. She had stopped several paces back and stood still, looking at Harry, sticking out her lower lip, with tears just starting to show at the corners of her eyes.

"Oh, do you need a lift?" Harry asked. "Does Iolanthe Astoria need to be picked up?"

Iolanthe was too emotional to talk but managed to nod her head in answer.

"Well, then, come on, let me pick you up. Mum will be here soon, and we'll have a nice lunch. Apples, and pears, and carrots, and squash…"

Harry kept naming fruits and vegetables Iolanthe liked until he ran out of species, so she prompted him to start up all over.

"Ap-pul?"

"Yes, apples and pears and carrots…"

When Iolanthe and Harry got to the sunny room by the patio, Iolanthe was fully recovered and ready to start working on lunch. She began bouncing up and down on Harry's shoulders, jabbering about 'Ap-pul' while keeping her balance by gripping Harry's ears. They'd just entered the hallway when Harry heard loud voices coming from Fabio's study. They were both male voices, so Kendra wasn't in on the discussion, unless she was sitting and looking on in silence.

Harry slowed to a stop, then reached up and brought Iolanthe down to stand beside him. Harry thought of snakes, before speaking.

"Can you be quiet? We'll just wait and see what is going on," he said, in parseltongue.

"Yes, Father," Iolanthe replied. "Let me know…"

She got Harry's leg between herself and the study door, but her head was fully exposed. Iolanthe might be a toddler, but she knew enough to know she didn't want to miss whatever was coming.

The door to the study opened, and Fabio was just visible, standing back to let his visitor exit.

"It's a fair offer, Greengrass!" the visitor said. "More than fair. I advise you to take it!"

"Fairness isn't the issue, Lestrange, as I've tried to tell you," Fabio said. "When and if I decide to sell the Greengrass businesses, you'll know and have the same opportunity everyone else has."

The visitor Lestrange did not move, but stood stiffly just over the threshold, into the hallway. Fabio was visible inside the study, one hand on the door handle, the other at his side. Harry saw Lestrange make a slight movement and knew what was coming. Lestrange's wand wasn't clear of his sleeve when Harry thought ' _Accio wand!_ ' The wand was in Harry's left hand before Lestrange knew it wasn't in his.

Iolanthe spoke only for Harry, in parseltongue.

"Should I summon an adder, milord?" Iolanthe asked.

"Let me handle this one, which I don't think will be a problem," Harry answered, keeping his voice down.

"What? What?" Lestrange demanded, turning and seeing Harry and Iolanthe standing in the hallway. "Potter! Tend to your own business for once. And I'll have my wand, if you please. None of your tricks, either."

"Let me know about the adder," Iolanthe said in low-volume parseltongue.

"Oh, I most certainly will," Harry replied.

Lestrange listened to the exchange which had been conducted entirely in parseltongue. His face lost its color and sweat broke out on his upper lip. Harry judged Lestrange was too young to have made it to the ranks of the Death Eaters. On the other hand, as a Lestrange, he had to have had some exposure to the events of the Second Wizarding War, and possibly the First. Harry wasn't familiar with his branch of the family, but guessed this one came from someplace in Corvus V's orbit. He'd no doubt heard of parseltongue and the late Dark Lord Voldemort's proficiency.

"Sure," Harry said, addressing Lestrange in English. "Let's just get you back to the hill and safely on your way."

Trix was ready at the door.

"After you, thank you for coming," Harry said, keeping the wand.

They walked the gravel path to the talking gate, which didn't say anything at all, for once. Instead, it opened with the sound of rusty hinges, and closed with a bass drum boom that evoked mental images of coffin lids coming down and tombs being cemented closed. When they got to the spot Harry always used for apparation, just outside the wards, Harry stopped and turned to the visitor.

"I don't know what your discussion with Fabio was about," Harry began, "But he is respected in the magical community, not to mention a wonderful father and grandfather. You might want to consider working with him, rather than browbeating him in the expectation he'll see things your way. Just a suggestion."

"Not everyone inherits multiple estates and titles, Potter, some of us have to make a living. Can you stay out of the way of business until you learn how business is done?" Lestrange demanded. "And how about my wand?"

"Of course," Harry said. "Safe travels."

He handed Lestrange his wand and backed away, staying focused on his adversary until the latter disapparated with a 'pop.'

Harry walked back to the talking gate, which confined its comments to a simple, "Good one, Lord Harry."

Harry didn't spare a lot of consciousness for formulating a reply but managed an 'Um-hmm' as he walked toward the front door. Trix let him in with a big smile.

"Mr. Greengrass is in the study, Master Harry," said the elf, then, "with Miss Iolanthe."

Harry proceeded to the study, where he found Fabio sitting cross legged on the floor, facing Iolanthe, an illustrated guide book to the snakes of Britain open between them.

Iolanthe looked up at Harry, pointed to a picture of one of the common, non-venomous native snakes and said, "Sy-OSS!"

"Yes! That is a snake!" Harry said, joining Iolanthe and Fabio on the floor. "Very good."

Turning to Fabio, though, Harry was a bit more serious.

"What was that all about?" he asked.

"Pretty much what you heard," Fabio said. "Lestrange deals in magical commodities. Minerals, some unusual plant matter, I'm not sure what the full range is. He hit on the idea of buying us out, sometime in the last year. We met for lunch and he made an offer. Just like that. I kept him talking over soup, and a sandwich, followed by coffee, and came away satisfied he did not have a clue how we do things, or why.

"Granted, putting his product lines together with mine makes sense, theoretically, but our methodologies are completely different, and he had no patience with me trying to nudge the conversation toward that kind of detail. He seems to have some money behind him, which convinces me he confuses access to capital with business skill.

"I don't know if Daphne told you, but my approach is all personal contact with my suppliers. I'll buy before harvest so they get their cash out, even if the crop yield doesn't fully meet my requirements. We make adjustments the next season. It has taken a lot of patience, but the relationships are solid. That's why I've got customers. We can reliably supply high quality to customers who have to have that. Lestrange is all fast money and turnover. No one really likes dealing with him, but he can usually deliver product, so he stays in business. It's the difference, though, between something that is essentially a craft product and something that is mass production/utilitarian. I don't think my little part of the field can be run like he runs his part. Like I said, though, he lacks the patience to discuss it, or even listen to what I have to say."

Harry didn't say anything right away, but sat watching Iolanthe enjoying the pictures of snakes.

"He drew his wand inside your house," Harry said, finally.

"Yes," Fabio said. "That could have gotten him killed."

"Certainly could have," Harry agreed. He drifted off into his own thoughts again. Harry was vaguely aware of a 'WHOOSH' coming from the library.

"Probably Kendra," Fabio said, looking at his watch. "Still a little bit early for Daphne. Will you be staying for dinner?"

"Don't know," Harry said. "I was thinking we'd all go back to London after lunch, but now…"

"Harry," Fabio said, "I don't speak parseltongue. I don't know what you two were talking about, but you and Iolanthe were having a conversation."

"Oh, yeah," Harry said with a little laugh. "Probably best to keep it to yourself. I don't want Iolanthe to become a specimen at her age, and that is what the people who obsess about that kind of thing would turn her into."

"When did you find out?" Fabio asked.

"Out in the garden, the summer after she was born," Harry said. "Fall was right around the corner. We stopped to talk to one of her friends, and she told it in parseltongue to get to the den because the cold was coming. He crawled off of my hand into the bed and disappeared under some dried-up plants. We've been able to talk ever since, as long as I speak parseltongue."

Iolanthe looked at Harry.

"Da-da," she said, in toddler English.

"That's right," Harry confirmed.

"Mum?" Iolanthe asked.

"On her way," Harry said.

The words were barely spoken when Harry heard another 'WHOOSH' from the library, and the sounds of two females greeting one another. Iolanthe got excited.

"Mum-Mum-Mum!" she related, getting up and toddler-running to the study door. Harry got there just in time to take a pinch of fabric and pull her back from the door swing.

"Mum-Mum-Mum!" Iolanthe announced, as Daphne scooped her up and held her on the threshold.

Daphne had to ask if her big girl was ready for lunch, to which Iolanthe gave affirmation, and the Potters and Greengrasses departed the study and made their way to the sunny room where so much of Greengrass family life took place.

"You're unusually subdued, Harry," Kendra said at one point.

Harry looked at Fabio, trying to yield the floor.

"A visitor forgot his manners a little while ago," Fabio said, "And Harry defused the situation. Very professionally. I didn't thank you for what you did, Harry, so, thank-you."

"Fabio, what—" Kendra started to ask.

"It was a Lestrange," Harry said. "He wanted to do some business with Mr. Greengrass, but he let his ego get involved and he didn't know when to adjust his goal to what he _could_ negotiate, as opposed to what he _wanted_ to negotiate. He got a little overwrought, kind of lost his bearings. I hope he calms down and learns from the experience."

Harry said the last sentence calmly, matter-of-factly, and, unbeknownst to him, sent a little shiver up Fabio's, Kendra's and Daphne's spines. Harry's sincere best wishes, coupled with his well-known history, were a combustible mixture. Harry wasn't given to making threats. On the contrary. Everyone understood, though, that if Harry hoped someone learned from an encounter with him, it could be a very good thing for them if they did, but most certainly would be a very bad thing if they didn't.

"On another subject, Mr. Greengrass," Harry began, "I was asked to attend the Wizengamot tomorrow afternoon. The debate is of interest to the minister, and he asked me. I don't even know what the subject matter is, but I told him I'd be there. It could go late. I was wondering if you had heard what they're going to discuss?"

Fabio looked around the table. Kendra and Daphne both shrugged.

"Not a clue," Fabio said. "That's odd, too. Usually there are pros and cons sending owls and asking for support for days before an important vote. Maybe they're not voting?"

Fabio made it into a question.

"Don't know," Harry said. "I guess I've got time to ask around."

"Anything interesting happening at St. Mungo's?" Harry asked, ceding the floor.

"I talked to Augusta Longbottom today," Daphne began. "She'd like to have Alice and Frank to the house. That would be a big step. They've got to manage it if they're ever going to get released. I don't see any reason why they shouldn't. It would be nice if you could be there, along with Neville and Hannah. It might make them feel more protected."

"Sure," Harry said. "Name the day, I'll be there. Have you given any more thought to your art buying trip?"

"Haven't really had the gray cells to spare this morning," Daphne answered. "Mother, Harry and I went to New York via Utica, and Harry met Uncle Larry. We both think I need to pick out some paintings for the new house."

Harry liked Daphne's characterization of Potter Manor as 'the new house.' Daphne's perceptions of a proper country house for a magical family were completely formed by Greengrass Manor. The contemporary design seemed spare, lean, even, but a walking tour revealed a house that continued to unfold, revealing its complete and wondrous self only to those with the stamina and determination to walk each corridor and suite to the end. Harry and Daphne had a suite with a large bedroom, sitting room, bath and attached nursery, because neither thought Iolanthe Astoria would end up as an only child. There were smaller suites for Tracey Davis and Astoria, Draco and Scorpius.

"We'll want them to come and stay over Christmas Eve so we can all get up and watch the children open presents," was Daphne's reasoning.

She added another suite, with a bedroom, bath and sitting room, because she needed her witches around her. Harry eventually deduced that Daphne was thinking Ginny Weasley and Millicent Bulstrode would need accommodations for country weekends.

There were three additional children's bedrooms, just in case, including one designated for Teddy Lupin.

Daphne and Fabio designed the ground floor for family life and entertainment. The townhouse at #12 Grimmauld Place could play host to no more than one hundred guests. Daphne wanted to have space for larger gatherings, resulting in large living and dining rooms at the new place, along with an expansive patio between the house and gardens.

Those last meant there would be long, unbroken stretches of walls requiring some bits of interest that harmonized with contemporary design aesthetics. Uncle Larry was a painter, Daphne needed paintings, and Uncle Larry was looking for reasons to brave current flying conditions to come to England and get to know Iolanthe, so everything was lining up. All that remained was the trip to Utica to pick out paintings.

"What a splendid idea!" Kendra said. "I hope you got Larry to commit to coming for a visit."

"He said he'd come to hang everything," Daphne said. "We have to pick everything out, then get it here, then he'll come over and we'll work out where it all goes. He'll have to fit it in around school, of course."

"That's wonderful!" Kendra said. Lawrence Davis, Uncle Larry, was her favorite sibling. Kendra had even let Lawrence show her how to use a muggle cell phone just so they could talk two or three times a week.

"Please prioritize getting over there and picking out what you want," Kendra added. "Then we'll see how much time he'll grant us for hanging it all."

"On it," Daphne agreed.

Harry noticed Iolanthe slowing down her puree-eating and pushed his plate aside.

"Looks like she's done, so why don't you give her to me and I'll finish up so you can eat. Are you going back to St. Mungo's or are you done?" Harry asked.

Daphne handed Iolanthe to Harry and gave him the plate of puree.

"I have to go back for a staff meeting," Daphne said. "No more patients today. What are your plans?"

"Don't have any," Harry said. "No obligations anywhere, until tomorrow afternoon. Why don't we wait for you here? Maybe one of us will have some ideas by then."

But Harry did have a plan. He had gauged Lestrange's emotional state and assessed the man's thinking had become fixed on the subject of acquisition of Fabio's enterprises. He'd leave the psychological dimensions to Daphne, as he always did, but he did not think Lestrange would simply go away and reconsider his approach. He judged it best for everyone if he stayed close to Fabio and Kendra for a bit, until Lestrange's response to their short interaction emerged. Harry could use the Greengrass Manor connection to the floo network for communications. A few informal inquiries might be in order. There wasn't any need to go the complaint route right away. Better to be discreet and not tip any hands.

Iolanthe Astoria still liked a bottle of milk and a nap after lunch, so Daphne took care of that before returning to St. Mungo's for her staff meeting. With Iolanthe sound asleep upstairs, Harry asked Fabio and Kendra if he could use the library fireplace for an hour. What he really meant was he was taking over the library, and might be using the floo for communication or transport, and he'd really prefer if no one were about while he was working. Neither one objected, as Harry anticipated.

When Harry sought counsel he invariably started with Ron Weasley. Harry's oldest friend, by length of tenure, Ron was also a good listener and an investigator for the Wizengamot. His insights were informed by a range of experience that complemented Harry's, and vice versa.

Harry tossed a pinch of floo powder in the library fireplace and waited for the 'WHOOSH' to end, then asked for Ron's office in the ministry.

"Harry?"

"Do you have a minute to receive a guest, or come see me?" Harry asked.

"Of course," Ron said, "Why don't I come to you? Where do you want to meet?"

"My flat?" Harry suggested. "Can you go now? I'll wait one."

"Done," Ron said, breaking contact.

Harry counted to sixty and stepped into the fireplace, dropped his floo powder and said, "Harry's flat."

"What's up?" Ron said when Harry arrived.

"Don't know," Harry replied, "Just need your valued perspective. Got time for tea? Coffee?"

"Tea. I know that look on your face, Harry, so you might as well make a pot," Ron said.

Harry did make the pot, which he and Ron finished by the time they'd talked through the problem.

Lestrange, it turned out, was Georges Lestrange, who was just old enough to have been done with Hogwarts by the time they began first year. He hadn't distinguished himself as a magical scholar and had spent the most serious part of the Second Wizarding War abroad. When he returned to Britain, he'd brought a little money, as well as some vague allusions to financial backing from mysterious silent partners. He'd established a magical commodities firm that, according to Ron's information, tracked very closely with Fabio's description. He seemed to be able to deliver what people needed, although his products didn't get the raves Fabio's did.

Fabio, Harry was aware, had a stellar reputation for quality. When a serious potioneer placed an order, he had to be ready to pay top price. Tolerances in magical potions were very close. Any kind of contamination, pest damage, or extraneous compounds in a magical ingredient could ruin an entire batch of a very expensive potion. Magical apothecaries, potioneers and retail suppliers counted on Fabio's products and were willing to pay for the extra care and attention Fabio paid to quality.

"Does Lestrange want Fabio to stay on?" Ron asked.

"That I don't know, we didn't get that far," Harry said.

Ron was lost in thought for a bit.

"It might not matter, one way or the other," said Ron. "I'm guessing his goal is to add some luster to his firm by acquiring Fabio's. He'd like to get the goodwill along with it. Then he'll squeeze the growers and collectors and whatnot, with no worry Fabio won't take a vacation, get bored and start right up all over again, cutting the ground out from under Lestrange from both ends, taking his suppliers back as well as the customers.

"From Lestrange's point of view, he's boxed in now, kind of a mass marketeer with no way to get into the higher-profit, higher-quality lines of business. He doesn't have the patience to build the quality slowly until he's a competitor, so he'll buy his way into that market."

Harry thought it over.

"That's a pretty good theory," he said. "All that hanging around with George has widened your understanding of the magical business community. At any rate, I'm co-opting your view for my working assumption until proven wrong.

"Now, I'm going back to Greengrass Manor, just in case. Thanks for everything."

"Any time," Ron said. "Let me know if you require an extra wand or two."

Harry stood up, gathered the tea things and put them in the kitchen sink. Ron was already back at his office in the Wizengamot section of the ministry when Harry stepped into the fireplace, dropped his floo powder, and said, "Greengrass Manor."

Harry stepped out of the library fireplace and went looking for Fabio and Kendra, who had taken the just-awakened Iolanthe Astoria to the sunny room.

"Da-da," Iolanthe said, pointing.

Harry acknowledged that he was, in fact, Iolanthe's Da-da.

"Gran," Iolanthe added, pointing at Kendra.

"Very good, Iolanthe," Harry said. "That is Gran."

"Gran-Fa," Iolanthe announced, pointing at Fabio.

Everyone agreed that was just about the best Grandfather they'd ever heard from someone so young.

Harry sat with the Greengrasses in the sunny room, chatting up Iolanthe and waiting for Daphne to finish at St. Mungo's and return. While he sat there he listened for one of those slight 'pops' that indicated someone had just apparated outside the wards.


	14. Chapter 14

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Fourteen

The Lestrange Problem

Harry didn't hear the little 'pop' that afternoon, nor that evening. He stayed at Greengrass Manor until after dinner. When Daphne took Iolanthe upstairs to have a bottle before bed, Harry went along. He brought a little side chair into the nursery and talked to Daphne while she rocked Iolanthe.

"I'm going to go take a look at #12, the flat, and the new house when we're done, then I'll be back," Harry said. "Georges Lestrange isn't going to let this go. There was something in his voice today. He's making a move on Fabio's operation and I don't think it is strictly for expansion purposes. My legilimency wasn't up to the task of working it out. Maybe if I'd had more time, but maybe not then, either.

"After our little encounter downstairs he may see me as something he has to get out of the way, before he can really pressure Fabio," Harry continued. "I'm going to see what I can find out about his businesses. Those unknown backers may be significant.

"Anyway, we probably ought to mix up our living arrangements," said Harry. "Not be predictable. We have the luxury of having options, all under our control. We can at least make it hard to pin us down. Use the floos to come and go, especially with #12. You could be vulnerable out there on the step. Another thing just occurred to me—in case I forget, remind me to mention to Kreacher and Walburga that we'd appreciate knowing of any additional security features that may have escaped our notice."

Daphne rocked slower and slower, finally taking the bottle from Iolanthe's hands and handing it to Harry. She picked up a washcloth and dabbed at the drops of milk at the corner of Iolanthe's mouth.

"It's all a bit disruptive, but not unreasonable," Daphne said. "Don't forget the Black estate is there, too. It's in Cornwall, it's isolated, that's some security in itself. And we know it has an adder."

Harry and Daphne both smiled at one another. Harry suppressed a laugh, so as not to wake Iolanthe.

"Watch your daughter with respect to adders," Harry said, smiling but serious. "She was peeking out from behind my leg, watching Lestrange get wound up, and offered to summon an adder. I asked her not to, at least right away, but she was ready to do it."

"Morgan," Daphne half-whispered, and Iolanthe smiled in her sleep. Daphne got out of the rocker and laid Iolanthe in her crib. She motioned with her head toward the bath, and Harry's room beyond.

"Much as I hate to say it, Harry, I think you're right about Lestrange," Daphne began. "Father's business has an attraction for him, of some kind, and he won't be able to leave it alone until he's got it. I suspect you are right about his assessment of you as the obstacle that he'll have to remove. If you were gone, preferably in some public fashion, Father would feel very exposed. Rightfully so, Harry. The question is, how will he move on you? Have you thought about that?"

"All afternoon," Harry said. "Not very systematically, though. I don't know enough about Lestrange to reach a conclusion. There are any number of ways he could try to catch me in a vulnerable position or set me up for a third party. I just don't have the background on his patterns for this kind of thing. He's not a fighter himself, or at least he's never been up against anyone with real skills, or he'd be dead. He drew his wand in the hall and I got it from him with a silent ' _accio_ ,' so what's that tell you?"

"I take your point, Harry, but you could probably disarm ninety-nine percent of the witches and wizards in London with your silent ' _accio_ ' so I'm not sure of the significance," Daphne replied.

"Now, if Georges Lestrange wanted a fight with you, personally, he'd have been back by now, probably with backup to keep the rest of us on the sidelines. I think he'll draw on some outside talent," Daphne said.

"Okay, then what?" Harry asked. "He was pretty hot today, like he needed to make a deal, now. But why? What kind of timetable is he working to?"

Daphne sighed.

"We're not going to figure it out right now," she said. "I need to get to sleep, and you want to go be a night watchman, so why don't you do that and you can wake me up if you need to when you get back."

"As good a plan as any," Harry said. He leaned over and kissed Daphne on the lips. "I'll try _not_ to wake you. Now that your lynx has proven so useful, have it take a look outside before you turn in. All the way around, as far as the wards ought to be enough."

With that, Harry picked up a pair of comfortable trainers and went downstairs. It was a beautiful night outside, temperature quite bearable, with little air movement and a bright moon. Harry's first stop was #12 Grimmauld Place. He apparated onto the front step as Kreacher opened the door.

"Welcome home, Lord Harry," said the elf. "Can I hang up your jacket?"

"Kreacher, let's go to the kitchen," Harry said. When they got to the kitchen Harry gave a heavily-edited version of the day's events.

"Mistress Daphne and I discussed the situation and we'll be taking some extra care with our personal security while we wait for the situation to clarify," said Harry. "We'll try to avoid setting patterns so any bad actors will have a hard time predicting where we'll be or what we'll be doing. Meanwhile, I'd appreciate it if you could let me know if you see or hear suspicious activity around #12. Also, if there are additional wards or other protective measures for the family, this would be a good time to let us know."

"Of course, Lord Harry," Kreacher said, swelling just a little as he spoke. "#12 has some experience with similar situations, as I'm sure you are aware. I'm sure you'll be pleased on your next visit. Will you be staying the night?"

"No," Harry said. "I'm going to check on the other properties, just to assure myself we can all count on having them available should things get out of hand. I appreciate your support. Merlin willing, nothing will come of this and we'll all get back to normal soon."

Harry headed to the salon, and the big fireplace. Dropping a pinch of floo powder, Harry said, "The Mill," and disappeared in the 'WHOOSH' of the green flames.

Harry left The Mill's fireplace without so much as a stumble, or minor tripping. Wand in hand, he looked around the main room. Seeing nothing amiss, he said " _Lumos_ ," and checked out The Baths, followed by a visit to the upper floor and security checks of the windows and the big double doors.

Satisfied the building was well buttoned-up, Harry left by the front door, intending to walk to the site of the new Potter Manor, just to mix things up a bit. Instead, he decided to sit on the bench beside the door for a few minutes and clear his mind. Maybe watching the fairies would calm him and let some ideas he hadn't considered bubble to the surface.

As usual, Harry started to see the little points of light begin to appear after a minute or two. With no Daphne to accompany him, the fairies didn't make a crown of lights, but formed their buzzing ball and took a position about ten feet in front of Harry's spot on the bench.

"Good evening to the fairies," Harry said. "How are the fairies tonight?"

"Welcome, Harry. The fairies are as they always are," came the familiar voice.

"That is good to know," Harry said, with great sincerity.

"Harry is sitting on the bench," said the fairies' collective voice, "Sitting alone, thinking."

Harry let that sit for a bit, to mellow.

"The fairies are correct," Harry said. "I am thinking through a problem."

"Iolanthe is sitting on the bench, thinking through a problem," said the voice from the ball of fairy lights.

Harry pondered their response. The fairies were as old as the Earth. They would not end until the end of everything. The fairies did not use time, being effectively immortal. Time did nothing for them. The fairies simply _saw_. Harry considered several responses, rejecting them in turn. Harry had never dabbled in communications with the dead. He knew such pursuits were considered ethically-challenged, at the very least, by wizards he respected. Moreover, the whole subject had always given him the creeps. It might have stemmed from his parents' murder when he was just over a year old, reinforced by his presence when Sirius passed through the Veil. Added to that was his experience with the dead/undead that inhabited the lake, whom he and Dumbledore had nearly joined, following their expedition to retrieve Salazar Slytherin's locket.

Harry thought through his interactions with the fairies, ever since the evening Fabio had introduced himself and Draco, and almost offhandedly commented on the fairies' difficulty imagining the concept of time. To the fairies, Iolanthe Peverell was sitting on the bench, thinking about a problem, right then. If Iolanthe were there, for the fairies, that would mean that, to the fairies, Harry and Iolanthe were equally present. If he could get a little insight from Iolanthe, that wouldn't be pestering the dead. Iolanthe was at The Mill, and, to the fairies, Iolanthe simply was, the way Harry simply was. Well, why not? Harry decided to give it a try.

"My problem concerns family, Daphne, Fabio, Kendra and Iolanthe Astoria. Someone wants to take something from Fabio, and it appears they will use force against some or all of us in the attempt," Harry said. Having stated the problem, he returned to thinking about it. Around and around, the complex of issues refused to be pinned down. Lestrange wanted to buy Fabio out. Fabio had a small, specialized business, while Lestrange had a large one. Fabio sold high-quality products in modest amounts, with lots of overhead in terms of time spent with growers and suppliers, while Lestrange bought and sold rougher commodities, trying to minimize the time between buying and selling. Fabio was a gardener. Lestrange was a broker. Fabio loved the process of running his business, Lestrange loved making money, if he truly loved anything.

And yet, Lestrange seemed to need Fabio's business. Taking over Fabio's product line did not sound like the reason, no matter what approach Harry took. What else would it be, though? Harry thought about his travels with Daphne, to Torshavn, Fort de France, and Montreal…

"Oh!"

"I need to be going," Harry said. "My regards to great-grandmother Iolanthe. I can see why Lily and Iolanthe sit on the bench to solve problems."

"Iolanthe sends her blessing to Harry," said the fairies, as they began to drift out of their ball and become tiny individual lights returning to their trees, shrubs, rocks and flowers.

Harry took the short walk between The Mill and the site of Potter Manor, AKA 'the new house.' He didn't have to leave his own property, the way was free of obstructions, and the moonlight was sufficient to allow him to navigate the lane. Harry went over his problem again, thinking through the ramifications and possible pitfalls, and how he would avoid those.

If Harry's theory were correct, a little research tomorrow morning ought to confirm it was as he suspected. Of course, the same research could just as easily show he was enamored of his own fantasy, but Harry didn't think he was.

Construction of the new house was complete. Furnishing would take some time. Harry and Daphne had been busy. Daphne had her Chief of Service duties as well as her patients at St. Mungo's, and Harry had been consumed with his rehabilitation ever since the incident near Borgin and Burke's that had left him unfit for duty. There followed numerous meetings with Kingsley Shacklebolt and Horace Slughorn on the open projects Harry would inherit upon the pending handover of Horace' department head responsibilities.

Harry'd suggested to Daphne that they turn the interior over to Seamus and Dean, or someone Seamus and Dean recommended, but Daphne recoiled from the thought of picking among three options for the rooms the family and friends would be inhabiting. Harry knew Daphne had taste and design sense sufficient to forge a career in interior design, had she not become a healer. He dropped his suggestion and let her take the lead. Her reasoning was rock solid:

"Harry," she'd said, "The Potters will be living in this house for centuries. We have to get this right!"

Harry walked to a point he estimated to be fifty or sixty yards from the new Potter Manor, found a tree with grass growing right up to the boll, and sat down. The exterior was, to Harry's eyes, every bit a work of art as Fabio's elevation drawings had been. As on every previous visit, Harry's thoughts turned to lawns, and broomsticks, and young Potters growing up at Potter Manor. Harry allowed himself a little time to enjoy his projections before he got back to his feet and walked up to the house.

It wasn't a secret he and Daphne were building a new Potter Manor, so he thought it prudent to take a look, just in case Georges Lestrange had become petulant and turned vandal. Harry hadn't seen anything during the minutes he'd studied the property from the tree boll. He let a part of his mind go into a kind of _legilimens_ mode, a technique he'd learned in auror training, designed to let aurors on patrol focus on observation of what was going on around them while staying alert for hostile personalities on one's periphery.

Harry walked up to the house via the flagstone patio. He was careful to avoid some tables and chairs, patio furniture that he and Daphne had purchased as soon as the patio pavers were in. He presented his wand to the lock on one of the French doors, and listened for the 'click.'

Once inside, Harry had to use his wand to get around, the moonlight being insufficient within the house. Everything looked to be in order. Nearly all of the construction materials had been removed, save some extra tiles and wooden trim pieces that would be taking up residence in a storeroom until they were needed for repairs. Harry walked through the room. As the first space inside, and the patio outside, the parallels with the Greengrass' sunny room were unmistakable. Harry was fine with that. He had nothing but pleasant memories of that room, and it clearly influenced both Daphne and Fabio's ideas of how to properly transition from the living quarters to the exterior. They would not get an argument from Harry.

Harry completed his tour of the downstairs and was debating whether it was worth going upstairs when he sensed a presence. Harry pushed everything out of his mind and focused on the person walking around outside. He tried to quiet everything, even the consciousness of his own mind working to sense the other's thoughts, so that he would have no interference between himself and the other. The thought arose, unbidden, that such thinking seemed a contradiction within itself. Harry identified the intrusion, considered it, and set it aside. Once acknowledged, the thought had no further need to intrude, and sat quietly by itself.

Harry felt the other outside, toward the front of the house. He moved back to the patio doors and used his wand to open one as silently as possible. Harry paused near the open door. The moon was about to set, but there was sufficient light to distinguish a person from a tree or shrub. Slowly and carefully, Harry stepped down from the house onto the stone flooring of the patio. He walked deliberately, putting his feet down, trying not to make a sound, aided by the rubber soles of his trainers and the dense limestone of the pavers.

The person was walking across the front façade, near the corner, coming toward Harry. Deciding to let his visitor work uninterrupted, as long as he kept coming his way, Harry stopped at the corner, partially concealed by a great, urn-like planter. The person kept walking toward Harry, his internal dialog becoming more intelligible the closer he got.

"Big pile of rock…What was wrong the way it was? Why can't they just live…might as well be a pyramid…"

"Hell-Oh!" Harry said as he stepped out from his concealment, wand up and ready. "Can I ask what you're doing here?"

He looked at the small man standing in front of him, frozen in the moonlight. The small, trouserless man, that is. The small, trouserless man wearing a white shirt and dark jacket, sporting a wispy beard, and horns.

"You're him!" said the man.

"I expect so," Harry said, "Since there's only one of me. What are you?"

"I would think that would be obvious," said the little creature. "I'm a faun. I live in the grove just over there. What have you gone and done to our hilltop? You've put a big stone pile over the best spot for revels in all of Devon."

"I built a house for my family," Harry replied, a bit put out at the big stone pile characterization. The faun sounded equally put out with Harry, and Harry was becoming mildly annoyed with the faun.

"What's this about revels?" Harry asked. It wasn't a rhetorical question. He and Daphne had just expended a great deal of time and money to build a home, expecting to raise their family on the hill with the breathtaking view of the River Dart, and a wood spirit seemed to be telling him the other entities in the neighborhood were taking umbrage.

"How's your Shakespeare?" asked the faun.

"I like Macbeth," Harry said. "It's got witches."

"Typical," said the faun, a bit dismissive, in Harry's estimation. "Have you ever read A Midsummer Night's Dream?"

"Might have," Harry said, honestly not sure. He wracked his brain for memories of the plot. The title was evocative, of wood creatures, summer, and a party.

"Shakespeare took some liberties, but for the most part, the play is historically accurate. This has been the neighborhood revel grounds for hundreds and hundreds of years," the faun said.

"Well, the Potters had a house here for a good number of those years, so what did the neighborhood do for revels then?" Harry demanded. He was genuinely curious. He wondered, specifically, if James had been an _habitue'_ of the revels, considering his reputation for mischief. He resolved to raise the question at the proper time.

"We had a deal with the Potters," said the faun. "They let us throw our revel on the lawn, and we kept the fireworks away from the house. It worked pretty well, most of the time."

"Let us do this, then," Harry said. "The Potters will keep a space here on the hill that is reserved for revels. The size can be negotiated, I'm sure, since we haven't been able to start putting in beds and plants yet. The revel will continue as usual, and in return, my wife and I want to meet all of you so we recognize who is about and whether they ought to be here or not. Besides that, we will expect you and your friends to keep an eye on the place for us when we aren't around. Deal?"

"I think so," said the faun, "I'll have to table it for discussion with the others, of course."

"Absolutely," Harry said. "We want everyone on board, thinking the same way. Now, it's getting late and I have to get back and check on my family. What is your name, and how do I get in touch with you?"

"I'm Plum, and if you'll just come by the grove and make your wishes known, I'll get back to you as soon as I can," said the faun.

Harry stuck out his hand, which Plum took, and gave a little shake.

"Very glad to meet you, Plum, and I look forward to many more years of satisfactory relationships among the Potters and all of yourselves. Never hesitate to bring me, or my wife, issues of concern to the neighbors hereabouts. We won't be happy here if you aren't happy," said Harry.

"Mr. Potter—" Plum began.

"Harry, please," Harry interrupted. "We're neighbors, after all."

"Harry," said Plum, "Very happy to meet you as well. Please come back soon. I'd like to meet the rest of your family, and we can talk about size and placement of the reveling ground."

"Count on it," Harry said, and the faun turned and trotted off toward the grove.

Locking the French door behind him, Harry walked around to the front of the manor, located a clear spot, and disapparated. He wasn't thinking about self-defense when he materialized on the knob just outside the Greengrass Manor wards, so Harry wasn't prepared to get hit right in his breast bone and knocked onto his back.

"Dammit!" he said, trying to bring his wand to bear. He quickly figured out he wasn't in danger, though, when a glowing cat face looked down on him, stuck out its tongue, and gave him a rough lick from the point of his chin, across his mouth and nose, finishing up around his hairline.

The lynx got off Harry's chest and stood, waiting, while he got to his feet.

"You're not supposed to be that solid," Harry said, as the lynx rubbed against his leg, purring.

"Want to take one last look around?" Harry asked. He cast his patronus and the lynx ran to stand by the stag.

"One more tour of the perimeter," Harry instructed. "Then come back inside."

The stag and the lynx trotted away toward the next chunk of granite that marked the border of Greengrass Manor proper. Harry wondered if they were having too much fun together to meet standards for a good perimeter inspection. He watched them until the light faded completely before turning and walking down to the talking gate.

The gate opened for Harry with just the hint of a squeak.

"How are you feeling?" Harry asked. He remembered the gate's comment about how a few drops of oil would cause a talking gate to lose its voice.

"Fine," the gate said, "Just using my indoor voice while everyone's asleep. Did you find everything to be quiet and regular?"

"I did," Harry said. "There is a little more to do tomorrow, but that's always the case."

"Well, I wouldn't know about that," said the gate. "I stand here. I open. I close. I bid people safe travels, and I welcome them back to Greengrass Manor. Some of us are just not cut out for the frenetic pace you set."

"You trap me into philosophical conversations," Harry said. "With an inanimate object. Which is a polite way of saying you have driven me crazy."

"Oh, from what I hear, you didn't need any help from me in that department," said the gate. "Pleasant dreams."

Harry was furious with himself as he walked down the gravel path to the front door, which opened as his foot touched the step. He resolved, for the umpteenth time, to stop chatting up the stupid gate and confine his remarks to an occasional 'Thank-you' for a gate opening or greeting. He'd just done a good night's work and it was going to finish off with him lying in bed, working over the conversation with the gate, over and over again, while he tried to convince himself that was the last time he'd let the gate bait him into conversation. The gate had no brain. It had no perspective on frenetic paces or sedentary lifestyles. That all came out of Harry's subconscious mind. Something about the gate caused it to bubble to the surface and get fed back, by the gate, eliciting yet another followup from Harry, and so the circular conversation continued.

"Just don't say anything," Harry told himself. "It's just a novelty gate, it's not meant to be one half of a conversation. You're letting yourself become unbalanced by a pair of rusty hinges."

A faint squeak came to Harry from the other end of the path.

"I heard that," said the gate.

Harry made his way back up the stairs to his old bedroom, which was now the bedroom he shared with Daphne. There wasn't a moon any longer, so Harry used his wand to give himself a little light to find his way about.

"It's okay," came a voice from their bed. "I'm awake. Light a lamp and don't go tripping and falling all over the place. How did it go?"

Harry stepped out of his trainers as he answered.

"Fine," he said. "Better than fine. Give me a minute."

Leaving his clothes in a pile for the elves, he turned on the shower and stepped in, then out before the water was fully warm.

"Much better," he said when he got back to bed.

"I went to #12 first, and talked to Kreacher. I gave him a short version and asked him to let us know if there were any additional protective measures we should be activating.

"After that, I went to The Mill, and sat on the bench. The fairies came up and they divulged that Iolanthe was sitting on the bench thinking about a problem. I went over and over Lestrange and his fixation on the Greengrass businesses, and finally came up with a theory that accounts for his behavior. What if Lestrange doesn't want the businesses per se, but wants another asset? What if he wants the floo network, and the offices here and there? What if those fit in with some activity of his? What if they solve a problem he's having?"

Daphne was silent, and Harry thought she might have been lulled back to sleep by his droning. Suddenly, Daphne popped upright, throwing the sheet back with a sweep of her hand. She straddled Harry and looked down at him in the lamp light.

"He wants the locations," she said.

"I think so," Harry replied.

"He wants the private floo connections," Daphne continued.

"Which he'd get as an asset of the business," Harry replied.

"He'd get established import/export routines terminating in Britain, originating in all kinds of obscure locations, like little islands in the Caribbean," she went on.

"Guadeloupe," Harry noted.

"Cali," said Daphne.

"Colombia?" Harry asked.

"The only growers of the flyspeck orchid export out of Cali, Colombia, and Fabio is the only buyer in Britain," said Daphne. "Father has built a squeaky-clean business just because he likes doing it, so officialdom probably waves the vast majority of his shipments through without inspection. Lestrange doesn't want the business, he's trying to get his hands on those little offices and the floos."

"That's my conclusion," Harry said.

Daphne leaned down and kissed Harry, hard, taking her time. When she let him have his lips back, she didn't pull back all that far, but stayed close to his face, her eyes locked on his.

"Harry Potter, I love you so much," she said. "That man has been keeping my father and mother up nights, and on pins and needles during the day. You figured it out and you're going to fix things, aren't you?"

"Not to get ahead of ourselves…," Harry began. Something happened to Daphne's face, some disappointment showed, disappointment in him. "But, yes, I think I know how to fix things."

Daphne slid her arms under Harry's neck and laid her cheek against his. Harry felt her spine through the nightgown and drew his thumb down the ripples of Daphne's vertebrae.

"Can you be quiet?" she asked.


	15. Chapter 15

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Fifteen

A Few Prudent Measures

Harry and Daphne were quiet enough, it turned out, and the Honorable Miss Iolanthe Astoria slept soundly throughout the night, as did her parents. That was a good thing, because they both awakened well-rested when the Honorable Miss stood up in her crib around five-thirty and began shaking the headboard to the rhythm of 'MUM-MUM-MUM-MUM-MUM…'

Mum got the change done while Da-da took a moment, then Da-da called for a bottle from the elves and sat down in the rocker with the Honorable Miss while Mum freshened up.

Daphne emerged showered, teeth brushed, hair pulled back, wearing emerald green warmups with silver piping, and took over. When Harry got back, he took up his station on the little side chair.

"I didn't get the whole story told last night," he began, or tried to.

"Imagine that," Daphne said. It was a throwaway, but she couldn't resist giving Harry the co-conspirator look. He returned it.

"I got a really good night's sleep," Harry confessed, "Lots better than finishing a boring story.

"Anyway, after working out my theory at The Mill, I walked to the new house and took a look around. The inside looks great, ready for a final cleanup, art on the walls, furniture, and occupation by the Potter-Black-Greengrass-Davis…"

"Cabal," Daphne finished for him.

"Y-yes, my own private conspiracy, with my co-conspirators close at hand, at the family's country seat," Harry said. "While I was there, I was using that _legilimens_ technique, just to be a little extra-sensitive to what was going on outside, and someone came up. I went out to greet him, not knowing what to expect, and he turned out to be a faun."

"Oh," Daphne said, clearly taken by surprise. "I've never seen one. How do you know it wasn't a Lestrange spy in a faun costume?"

"His feet," Harry said. "He has little goat feet. There is no place to put a human foot in that costume. His name is Plum. He was upset with the new house."

Daphne flared a bit. She had done the rough drawings before turning the design over to Fabio for both a sanity check and the finishing touches, and she rather liked the new house. In her mind, it was her 'dream home,' although she was saving that for a thank-you to Harry upon the occasion of their official move-in.

"And why was a faun running around in the middle of the night, objecting to my new home?" Daphne asked. She noticed she'd just staked a claim she hadn't staked before but moved on.

"Is it not to his taste?"

"No, not at all," Harry said. "The reason for his objection is very much in the tradition of rural Britain. It seems the woodland creatures have been holding their revels there since who knows when, and he felt we'd encroached. I pointed out that Potters have been living there for centuries, and all that we did was put a house back on the site. I asked him how his friends had held revels before, and he said they'd had a deal with the Potters. In the end, we settled on a new, preliminary deal and I committed us to establishing an acceptable reveling ground for the future. He lives in that grove down the hill and off to the right. I'll take it as settled we won't sell that timber and plant row crops there."

Daphne was rocking in her chair. Iolanthe no longer lay back in the crook of Daphne's arm with her bottle, unless she was trying to drift off to sleep. These days she sat straight, her back against Daphne's torso, looking at and listening to everything going on around her. Lately she had taken to tossing her bottle aside when it was empty, then commencing to climb off the lap that held her and begin the next phase of her day.

"That does sound magical," Daphne said, an indication, to Harry's mind, that she had been thinking the situation over. Iolanthe's bottle went flying, and she began climbing down.

"Part of the deal is Plum and his friends will keep an eye on things when we're away," Harry said, as he looped an arm around Iolanthe's middle and scooped her up.

"Breakfast?" Harry asked.

"Ap-pul?" Iolanthe inquired.

"Apple," Harry confirmed, as Daphne got up from the rocker.

On the way downstairs, Harry said to Daphne, in his lowest mutter, "Let me work that other problem. No reason to get everyone upset unnecessarily."

"Of course, Harry," Daphne said. "That's your area."

The sunny room was quite pleasant and the Potters had it all to themselves for roughly half an hour. Iolanthe got her fill of Trix' applesauce puree while Harry and Daphne ate scrambled eggs and muffins. When Fabio and Kendra arrived, breakfast was finished and the table cleared of everything but Harry and Daphne's coffee cups.

Harry and Daphne stayed off the unpleasant topic of Georges Lestrange and his aggressive approach to making a deal for Fabio's businesses by talking about the new house. They had to get started with furnishing the place, without further delay. There were a few magical furniture and household goods merchants, but the great magical households combined ancient and modern, enchanted and non-magical, goblin-made and muggle craftsmanship, in idiosyncratic melangeries that defied description. It was rare that a wizarding family built a new home to decorate and furnish from scratch. Daphne had always liked spending time with Kendra doing mother-and-daughter stuff, and she anticipated the furniture-choosing and home-commissioning phase of her relationship with her new manor house to be a revel in and of itself, with the added bonus of hauling her own daughter around and letting three generations share the fun.

"You might want to go pick out art with Mrs. Greengrass," Harry said, at one point. "Not that I want to poke my nose into your business or tell you how to do your job."

This got a genuine laugh out of Kendra.

"So diffident! You've been domesticated, Harry," Kendra observed.

"I give all credit to my teacher," Harry said, as he nodded toward Daphne.

"Oh, Harry," Daphne said, "You're such a quick and independent learner, all I had to do was point you in the right direction."

"Well, why not?" Harry said. "Get a colleague to take your patients at St. Mungo's for the day, coordinate with Professor Davis, take Iolanthe along for entertainment."

Kendra looked at Daphne.

"Sure," Daphne said. "Let's do calendars, and you can call Uncle Larry."

"Wins all around," Kendra said, getting up and leaving for the library. Daphne put Iolanthe on the floor

"Go with Gran," she ordered, and gave Harry a wink before falling in behind Iolanthe.

Harry let everyone clear out of the sunny room before turning to Fabio.

"Mr. Greengrass, I'm working on the Lestrange issue. It may be necessary for you to be scarce for a day or two. Is there something credible you could do, like go to Davis Manor and polish an enchanted lamp, or something?" Harry asked.

"You know about their enchanted lamp?" Fabio replied. "They usually don't talk about that."

"I didn't know," Harry said, "It was just a hypothetical, something to use for an example. What kind is it?"

"It's got a genie," Fabio said. "He's kind of a refugee. Very quiet, keeps his head down. There is a very bad Moroccan wizard after him. The genie cost the wizard a princess, a very delectable princess, according to the legend, and the wizard won't let it go. If it goes just a few more years, the feud will get into the record books.

"So, to answer your question, sure, there's always something I can do, someplace I can go," Fabio concluded.

"I'll let you know," Harry said. "I'm going to get out of here so I can be seen in public, in case anyone is looking for me. I plan on attending that Wizengamot session this afternoon. Will I see you there?"

"As far as I know," Fabio said. "You've got my curiosity riled up."

Harry stopped by the library to advise Daphne of his rough schedule for the day, then left via the front door to apparate to #12 from his usual spot just outside the Greengrass Manor wards. Kreacher greeted him at the door, and Harry suggested they proceed to the kitchen. He was feeling the need for another cup of coffee, and a debrief from Kreacher.

Nothing untoward had happened between Harry's stop-by the previous evening and his arrival. Kreacher had not set up an observation post for the park but had checked periodically and had not observed anyone loitering across the street. The disillusion charm for #12 was functioning perfectly, which meant that anyone who did not know how to see the house would not be able to. Ever since the mannequins had shown up to give him some opponents for his workouts, Harry had known that there was some consciousness at work in #12, although he didn't know exactly what it was capable of, or how it worked.

Kreacher was the resident expert on the house and its enchantments and capabilities. Harry gradually came to learn that Kreacher was naturally reticent about the house, much preferring to carry out his house elf duties as the perfect adjunct and supporting column for the family. Thus, Harry understood he would have to employ diplomacy to get the information he wanted, and that if he asked an inappropriate question, or made a careless statement, he could cause Kreacher to freeze up, and he wouldn't get anything.

"We will be returning at some point," Harry began.

"Kreacher will look forward to seeing Lady Potter-Black and the Honorable Miss Iolanthe Astoria," said Kreacher, clearly relishing giving all of the family the maximum honorifics.

"And they are looking forward to seeing you, and #12 again," Harry returned.

"The security measures we are employing are, understandably, I think, something I should be interested in," Harry continued. "A responsible husband and father has to think of those kinds of things."

Harry let that hang in the air, giving Kreacher an opportunity to return service.

"Kreacher understands, and shares, Lord Harry's concerns," said the elf.

"Can you tell me something about the garden?" Harry asked. It wasn't that he was particularly concerned about the garden as such, but it did back onto the shared alleyway to the rear of the townhouse, so it was a credible vulnerability. Harry's strategy was to get Kreacher talking, stay back, and let Kreacher go as far as he liked.

"The same disillusionment spell that protects the front protects the back of the house," Kreacher said. "Kreacher did suggest to Madame Walburga, when she lived here alone, that an anti-intruder charm might be a useful addition in the garden, but she declined, as did Master Sirius when he returned. Master Sirius had confidence in his dueling skills and felt secure enough, he said."

"I understand self-confidence," Harry said, "But we do have to sleep sometime. I will put an anti-intruder charm in place today. I think an alarm, audible only inside the property, ought to be sufficient."

"A wise decision, Lord Harry," said Kreacher. "If I may make one additional suggestion?"

"Please," Harry said.

"Lord Harry is aware that the wards at #12 are not to be trifled with. Sufficiently energized, they could be lethal, if triggered, even in error," said the even-more-serious-than-usual elf. "You and Lady Daphne might wish to consider widening the circle entitled to status as members of your family, to avoid setting the conditions for tragedy."

Harry sat upright. That was one subject he'd never had to worry about. His personal life prior to Daphne centered on his flat, and Ginny, Ron and Hermione had all had permission to enter by floo through the flat's fireplace. He had added Daphne when things became serious between them, but that was as far as he'd taken it. Kreacher's comment caused Harry to think of the people who ought to be included as family, or near-family, and be given that status just so there wouldn't be any misunderstandings.

Teddy, certainly, first of all. He was twelve and would be moving about more on his own, or with a friend. Andromeda, by extension, ought to be able to come and go. Astoria, certainly, Daphne's sister and the person she was closest to in all the world. Tracey Davis most definitely needed to be able to come and go. Daphne had saved Ginny and Millicent's room for them, as she'd promised, and, Harry wasn't sure just how, they had clothes in the closet and toiletries in their bathroom. Ron and Hermione were well-known to #12 going back to Order of the Phoenix days, but were they still free to access the house on their own? That also needed looking into.

Harry broke off his reverie. No doubt it would come back to him in coming days. He resolved to discuss it with Daphne and get an agreed-upon access list prepared. Thanking Kreacher for his counsel, Harry headed for the bookcase in the salon, and took out the _Standard Book of Spells_. He quickly found the anti-intruder charm he was looking for, ran through the steps two or three times, and walked to the rear of the house. The charm was simple and didn't take Harry very long to put in place. He activated the charm, then spent a few minutes looking around the garden.

Back inside, Harry checked the time, dropped a pinch of floo powder in the hearth and asked for Ron Weasley's office.

"Harry? What's up?" said Ron's voice from the fireplace.

"I wanted to see if I could treat you and Hermione to lunch," Harry said. "I was thinking the Leaky Cauldron."

"I can come, for sure," said Ron. "What time?"

"Noon?" Harry asked.

"Noon it is. I'll see if I can bring Hermione, but that depends, as always," Ron confirmed.

"As always," Harry said. "See you there."

Harry let Kreacher know he was going and expected to be back for a change of clothes on his way to the ministry, then left via the front steps. His purpose was to be seen, while doing a little seeing himself, so he paused for a few seconds before apparating to the usual point near his flat.


	16. Chapter 16

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Sixteen

Harry Potter OM, Member of the Wizengamot

Harry let himself in and took a look around. Everything seemed to be in place. He checked the charms he'd left to alert him to intrusions, his favorite being the mirror that faced the door, which could be queried by waving his wand to show the people who had come in, one after another, as far back as one wished to go. Harry didn't get any surprises, so he was confident no one had breached his security measures since his last visit.

Harry intended to spend fifteen or twenty minutes at the flat, then floo to the Leaky Cauldron to meet Ron and Hermione. He hadn't decided whether to use the floo to contact Hannah and ask her to give them one of the smaller private dining rooms or to sit in the big room so they'd be seen. One would give them reasonable privacy for discussing his encounter with Georges Lestrange, and his working theory that Lestrange needed Fabio's facilities for some purpose other than the importation of specialized magical materials. The other would show anyone watching that Harry, Ron and Hermione were having what appeared to be a working lunch, presumably for the purpose of discussing subjects of mutual interest.

Harry eventually decided the message could best be delivered if he were to arrive a few minutes early, sit at the bar, then go on into the private dining room upon Ron's arrival. He used his floo and called for Hannah, who confirmed she had a dining room available, and she'd keep it for Harry's party.

Harry didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed that no one he could connect to Georges Lestrange was hanging around the Leaky Cauldron while Harry sat at the bar nursing a butterbeer. Hannah was fully occupied with the lunch rush, and Neville was at Hogwarts, so Harry was left to his own thoughts. One concerned the flat, and what he would do with it. He wasn't using it much anymore, splitting his time almost equally between Greengrass Manor and #12 Grimmauld Place. With the new Potter Manor nearly ready for occupation and the Black estate available as well, Harry thought Potter family life had evolved past the flat's expiration of usefulness.

On the other hand, it was a handy staging area for all kinds of London activity, very convenient to Diagon Alley, and could be useful as alternative housing or guest quarters if something precluded using #12.

Harry was in the midst of sorting out all of the self-contradictory options when the door opened, admitting Ron and Hermione. Harry got off his stool and greeted his oldest, best friends, grabbed his butterbeer, waved to Hannah, and led the way to the private room.

"What's with the privacy fetish, Harry," Hermione asked.

"You, of all people," Harry replied.

He wasn't officially in public life at all, at least until he formally accepted Slughorn's duties, and Ron's position as an investigator for the Wizengamot had no covert attachments. Hermione, on the other hand, headed up the Department of Mysteries, whose staff avoided letting anyone know just where they worked and never spoke about what they did.

Ron laughed heartily, a gratifying response to Harry, and Hermione turned scarlet.

"I just meant…," she tried, before giving up.

There was a knock on the dining room door, and Hannah Abbott peeked in.

"Hullo, Hermione, hullo, Ron, hullo, Harry," Hannah said, "Drinks? Another butterbeer, Harry?"

Everyone was ready for a small butterbeer, and Hannah ducked out, returning minutes later with a tray and the butterbeers, silverware and napkins.

"Lunch special with meat," said Ron.

"Same," said Harry.

"The meatless special please, Hannah," Hermione said, giving the other two a slight frown. As it turned out, the lunch special with meat was spaghetti and meatballs, and the meatless special was spaghetti in a red sauce without meatballs, making the nutritional content only marginally different. Ron and Harry kept that observation to themselves, drawing on long experience with Hermione. There wasn't any need to get a promising lunch off to a bad start, in their estimation.

When everyone was comfortable and the formalities satisfied, Harry got to the point.

"I have an actual agenda," he said.

"Oh, Harry, I thought you were going to say you just wanted to spend some quality time with us," Ron responded, eliciting a, "Ronald!" from Hermione.

"Anyone have any idea what is going to come up at the Wizengamot this afternoon?" Harry asked. "Kingsley asked me to attend, unusual enough in itself, but I asked Fabio if he'd heard anything, and he had no idea. It just seems odd, all the way around. Nothing from Kingsley, and Fabio not getting pestered to commit his vote."

Ron didn't sit as a member, but as a full-time investigator, he attended most sessions, either because he had material to present, or could be called upon as a subject matter expert for background information. He was usually well-informed about the business before wizarding Britain's highest legislative body.

"No idea," Ron said. "It is odd. They do sometimes have those routine sessions to approve a final budget or pass a resolution to honor some achievement. What about you, Hermione? Anyone come to you with anything?"

"No, and I'm not just saying that," Hermione said.

"How would we know?" said Ron and Harry in unison.

"Sometimes I really hate my job," Hermione said, more to herself than the two of them.

"Okay, time will tell," Harry said, as a waiter arrived with plates of spaghetti swimming in sauce.

"No meatballs?" he asked, and Hermione raised her hand.

"Second agenda item," Harry began. He told them of his encounter with Georges Lestrange at Greengrass Manor.

"Apparently it's been going on for a few months," Harry said. He continued the story, ending with his working theory of the basis for Lestrange's quest to acquire Fabio's businesses.

"So you think he wants the logistics capabilities?" Ron asked. "Any idea why?"

"All kinds of things come to mind," Harry said, "But some form of smuggling seems the most likely. Contraband. Drugs, money, people."

Hermione and Ron twirled strands of spaghetti around the ends of their forks. Harry let the problem simmer as well while he cut the meatballs down to an easily-edible size.

"Could be all of it," Ron offered. "All of the above. Who are the mysterious backers? Is the capital legitimate, or the fruits of something hinky?"

"Possible," Harry said, before closing his mouth over a fork full of meatball, spaghetti and tomato sauce.

"This hasn't come across my desk, Harry," said Hermione, "Not Georges Lestrange nor his business. I can look and see if there is anything in the files.

"Why does it have to be anything but an acquisitive businessman with money to spend?" Hermione asked. "What was that Fabio quote?"

"The access to capital mistaken for business skill?" Harry asked.

"Exactly," Hermione said, giving in to a little laugh.

"Could be," Harry said. "I don't think so. There was something in his voice, like desperation. Not saying it actually was desperation, he just sounded like he knew he had to get the deal done. It could be a negotiating technique. And he did draw his wand."

"I'll keep an open mind," Ron said. "Let me read some files and see if anything looks interesting."

"I can't promise anything," Hermione said, which was very much what Harry expected. "But you can give our love to Daphne and Iolanthe and tell Kendra and Fabio we are working on this. If they keep that last part to themselves."

Harry was free until the Wizengamot was called to order, which would probably be at four that afternoon, but Ron and Hermione were gainfully employed and needed to get back to their jobs.

Harry paid for lunch and took the floo back to the flat. Protocol required members to wear robes when sitting in session, so most members of the Wizengamot left the appropriate robe in the cloakroom. Harry had commissioned a robe from Madame Malkin, a plain black silk number devoid of ornament, except for an Order of Merlin rosette embroidered in the upper left quadrant. The robe was in the cloakroom outside the Wizengamot chamber, so as long as Harry allowed himself to pass by the cloakroom and retrieve his robe from his personal closet (which was actually a metal locker reminiscent of the shower facilities at the gym), he had time for a little fresh air and thinking time.

Harry apparated to his usual spot on the fringes of Hyde Park, wand at the ready, and took a quick look around. Not seeing anyone in his immediate vicinity, he struck off down a paved walkway as he slipped his wand into the sleeve of his shirt. Harry thought over what he'd discussed with Ron and Hermione. Hermione had made a good point—Fabio could be right in that Lestrange did nothing more than demonstrate the phenomenon of a businessman with access to a pool of capital, possibly his, more likely some other person's, who confused that with business skill.

Neither Ron nor Hermione had heard or read material that put Lestrange on their list of things to look into. Ron's point about the uses of the Greengrass floos was a good one. If Lestrange had the right connections, he could be envisioning the creation of an international transportation service for many kinds of contraband. Witches and wizards were used to moving about freely, since they seldom came to the attention of muggle customs and immigration officers. All could be in play, or none. Maybe Lestrange was working both the muggle and magical sides. Maybe he was just trying to buy a little respect, via the purchase of Fabio's ultra-respectable business.

Analysis would have to wait, Harry decided. According to his watch, it was time to head for the ministry.

Harry found a quiet spot and apparated to Grimmauld Place. Greeting Kreacher, he continued on to the salon, and the fireplace. Harry correctly guessed Daphne would be at Greengrass Manor, her duties at St. Mungo's done for the day.

"Harry?" said Daphne's voice, speaking through the floos.

"Yes. Just about to head to the ministry for the session. What has been happening out there?" Harry asked.

"All quiet," Daphne said. "Mother and I are taking Iolanthe to Utica tomorrow. It all just came together. Father told me about your conversation. He's ready, if you say the word."

"What a day," Harry said, with a little exasperation coming through. "Are you two coming back here, or should I come to Greengrass Manor?"

"It's easier for us if we're here in the morning. Do what you think best. Just keep me informed," Daphne summed up.

"Got it," Harry said. "I'll be in touch."

After throwing on a fresh shirt Harry floo'd to the ministry and made his way to the Wizengamot chamber. Donning his robe, he went inside and worked his way to the bench furthest to the rear. When Harry turned seventeen he became a member of the Wizengamot, a fact that escaped his notice for several years afterward. Dumbledore might have informed him, had he lived a bit longer, or Professor McGonagall, or Remus Lupin, but the chaos of Voldemort's second ascension and the bloody fight to defeat him and his followers obviated a rational, organized approach to bringing the newly-emancipated orphan into the magical fold.

Harry had learned of his status when, after he had returned from what he thought of as his 'sabbatical year' of travel, he had noticed the provisional identification card issued by ministry administration when he commenced auror training, gave his name as 'Harry James, Lord Potter.' He'd thought that seemed odd, but stuck the card in his wallet and focused on keeping up with the others in the auror trainee class.

It wasn't until a permanent card was issued, on his completion of training, that he thought to ask why his name was shown as 'Lord Potter.' The clerk behind the high desk who had handed him his card, in return for his signature on the receipt form, didn't know, but he did show Harry that Lord Potter appeared on the receipt, just as it did on his card. The clerk advised him to go up one step further on the personnel section chain, and there followed several days of climbing the ladder and diverting to parallel chains before someone advised Harry to check with protocol.

Once he arrived at the protocol unit, he was escorted by a friendly aide directly to the Chief of Protocol, who invited Harry to sit down, have tea with the Chief and the Head of the Magical Heraldry Office, and discuss his issue with his title. Harry explained that he did not know he had a title, nor did he know what he had done to deserve one.

The Chief of Protocol and the Head, Magical Heraldry (for short) explained that he didn't have to do anything to deserve his title. That is the nature of titles, they advised. Both were completely in sync on that detail, leading Harry to believe they rather liked titles, for their own sake, as well as the fact that no one who inherited a title needed to do anything at all in life, besides living long enough to hold their title.

That was also the day Harry learned he was not only Lord Potter, but Lord Black as well. Harry had been aware Sirius had left him his properties and the other odds and ends of his estate, but he did not know until the Chief and the Head informed him that a title came with the real estate.

Harry had attended a few sessions of the Wizengamot, mainly those where a friend or colleague would be getting an award or other public recognition. When he became Head Auror his presence was required more often. Harry tried to stay neutral whenever the members were divided, in recognition of the fact the Head Auror had to remain outside of factional disputes if he were to be seen as fair in his dealings with both winners and losers. He also tried never to forget that today's loser is tomorrow's winner, and the Head Auror would want to be acceptable to tomorrow's winner when the tide changed.

Taking a seat against the back wall, Harry looked around the Wizengamot chamber. He recognized most of the members. Some were natural glad-handers and would be circulating and chatting with acquaintances until called to order. Others were chronic crammers, scanning this or that document as if an exam loomed. Harry spotted Hermione, who was among the latter group.

Ron Weasley appeared at the end of the row where Harry sat and worked his way down.

"Ron," Harry said, sliding over.

"Done any research?" Ron asked.

"Found a quiet place and did some thinking," Harry said. "Enough to have formed a working theory."

"Let's talk afterwards," Ron said.

"Anyplace in particular?" Harry asked.

"Your flat?"

"Sure," said Harry. "I can make tea, I think."

"Sold," Ron said. "I'll meet you there, directly after."

The Wizengamot came to order, Kingsley Shacklebolt presiding. It was a regular session, so there were bits of routine business up front. With no major crises looming those were disposed of fairly quickly. There followed a debate on finance that Harry had some initial trouble following. He wasn't a financial expert, and when the subject moved into currency controls and capital movement he usually thought about something else. When he had need for any of that, he was confident the goblins at Gringotts Bank would be able to tell him what he ought to do.

Harry wasn't sure what was different about this debate, though. He watched carefully, listening not just to what the speakers were saying, but for nuance, word choice, anything that would reveal more than the words, whether or not the speakers intended to.

Harry picked up the gradual emergence of a pattern. Lenard Nott, a lawyer, took a position favoring the liberalization of the restrictions on currency movements, specifically, the thicket of rules governing exchange between the magical and muggle denominations, both pounds and foreign. The rules as written, he said, were outdated and impinged on the ability of wizard-run businesses to grow and bring prosperity to British wizarding families.

The ministry's position held that caution must be applied to any measure that had the potential to expose magical society, that the current regulations were appropriate and balanced between maximizing freedom to trade while protecting against exposure, in accordance with international agreements.

Harry tried to stay focused on Nott's orations. He wanted to remember as much as he could, and he would be able to think about the word choice and emphasis later. At one point, Harry noticed something on the edge of his vision, and looked over at Ron, who was looking straight at him. Ron raised one eyebrow, and shifted his eyes to Nott, who as speaking, then back to Harry. Harry nodded, once, slowly, then returned to watching the debate.

Nothing was decided. Nothing was framed as a motion and put up for a vote. The debate was the opening curtain of a play that had more acts, and scenes within acts, to go, before the final curtain came down.

Ron was waiting at Harry's flat when Harry got there. Kingsley had pulled Harry out of the cloakroom and around the corner to a little anomaly in the corridor to ask if he felt ready to take up his new duties. There would be a formal swearing-in, which marked the beginning of the new official's term of office, which was necessary to give the strength of the executive, the Minister for Magic, to the department head's decisions. The nature of the new job precluded a public fuss, so the ceremony would take place in Kingsley's office, with only the junior ministers and other department heads in attendance. In theory, Harry's new department did not officially exist, was never referred to directly in the press, and its head was not named or acknowledged. The system was surprisingly effective at concealing the department's members' identities, as Slughorn's anonymity had demonstrated.

"Get anything out of that?" Ron asked when Harry walked out of the fireplace.

"Tea?" Harry asked, in return, heading for the kitchen.

"Merlin, I guess so," Ron replied. "Not your usual watery substitute, either. Put some Kreacher in your recipe."

"You want Kreacher, you have to go to #12," Harry said, as he pointed his wand at the kettle. The lid started rattling almost immediately.

Harry brought the pot with the steeping tea, two cups and two saucers to the table in his living/dining room. He double checked his locks and cast _muffliato_ so he and Ron could speak freely.

"It sounded to me like Nott was making a case for adding galleons to the currency exchange boards at all the hotels and tourists traps in every major city on Earth," Harry said. "Taken to its logical extreme. What did you think?"

"Pretty much the same as you," Ron said. "The question is, why? It's not like the world is lacking in ways to move money around. Do you ever read the muggle financial press? Financial institutions can move billions around, financing this or that. Trillions if two or three of them go in together. Occasionally they bump up against some regulation or ethical violation, pay a big fine and go on moving money."

"What if they don't want to bump up against regulations anymore?" Harry asked. He took a sip of tea. He took a bit more before putting his cup down.

"What if they'd like to put the money someplace for a day or two, but have it at hand if they wanted it back, to finance a tourist hotel on a slippery slope somewhere? If there were half a billion lying about, ill-gotten gains, let's say, and it could become galleons for seventy-two hours, then reappear as some muggle denomination, preferably in a location at some distance…" Harry was lost in thought again.

"Gringotts?" Ron wondered.

"Oh, I hope not," Harry answered. "Two things occurred to me just now. Gringotts is behind it, or they want no part of it but are being intimidated into passivity."

Ron opened the file that had been in front of him on the table.

"Lenard Nott, of our magical Notts, finished at Hogwarts and studied magical law according to wizarding custom, clerking at an established firm, taking some formal classes, doing some second chair duties, finally getting called to the magical bar. He continued his studies in muggle law, eventually becoming one of a very few wizard lawyers qualified to work in the legal liaison field where muggle and magical law and interests bump up against one another. He has had some interesting clients, although no hint of impropriety has attached to him or his firm," Ron summarized.

"May I hazard a guess that his interesting clients are not murderers or thieves, but corporations with names like 'AzwackoCorp' and 'LaStorFa?' Harry asked.

"Very close, Harry, uncomfortably close," Ron replied.

"They're small, closely held, and have peculiarly friendly relations with ruling circles in countries with abundant natural resources, correct?" asked Harry.

"They don't do a lot, but they're listed in partnership papers for mines, oil and gas exploration, and construction consortia," Ron said. "Their chief executives appear on daises with presidents and prime ministers, give an occasional interview to a reporter for a friendly financial publication, and invariably act as boosters for the benevolent local government, which welcomes investment, tourists, and cooperation with all peoples and their leaders."

Harry leaned on his elbows and looked down into his tea cup. He wished he'd paid a bit more attention in Professor Trelawney's Divination classes, so he'd at least know if reading tea leaves had any validity.

"I have to ask, Ron, and you have to tell me the truth, as you best understand it," Harry said. "Does Fabio Greengrass figure in this? Has Nott's enterprise outgrown its money-launderer and they've decided to squeeze him out?"

Ron sighed and looked at Harry.

"It doesn't look like it to me, but I don't know enough to rule it out completely," Ron said.

"Hermione?" Harry asked.

"Hermione won't comment, as usual," Ron answered. "She will tell me if I'm completely outside the boundaries of what's reasonable. I gave her the opening, in a place where we could speak freely, and she didn't wave me off. I believe, for now, she agrees with me. There is no evidence Fabio is complicit."

Harry continued to sit at the table, thinking through the swirl of issues, the knowns and the best-guesses, and how they might go about turning the unknowns into something, anything but a blank.

"I think I need to talk this over with Kingsley," Harry said.

"Kingsley asked you to attend the session?" Ron stated, before turning it into a question.

"He did," Harry replied.

"May I suggest, Harry, as your oldest friend, you may want to leave Kingsley out of this?" Ron asked. "In your new job, Kingsley will trust you to observe the big picture, see these things at an early stage, monitor the situation and excise them before they get so big they threaten the entire magical order, keeping him out of it. There are important people, not a lot of them, both muggle and magical, who are aware of what we suspect Nott and his clients are doing. At the moment, they have to stay on the fence. They don't know which way the coin will land."

"Nott wants to put his reforms through as an ordinary adjustment to new conditions to encourage enterprise," Harry said.

"Benefiting everyone," Ron added. "Kingsley has to represent everyone. One of the drawbacks to that is the reality that if Nott's project is as we suspect, by the time the criminality becomes obvious, it will be difficult, if not impossible to stop. Too many people will be compromised. The new arrangements begin to look normal. Never mind they facilitate varieties of corruption we probably haven't envisioned yet."

"There are a couple of people I have to talk to," Harry said. "I hate to run you out, but time might be important. You've really come through, Ron. Can I presume to give you some advice?"

"Of course," Ron said. "And you've never asked permission before and it hasn't stopped you, but…"

"Yes. You have me there," acknowledged Harry. "Your inquiries may have triggered alarms. Do you want anyone watching your back? Officially, or unofficially?"

"This was all from the files," Ron said. "I haven't talked to anyone. Did my own searches and pulled what I wanted to read. The clerks were in the stacks, but they wouldn't have seen what I was looking at, and if they had, I doubt they could put it together."

"If you're sure," Harry said. "Can I encourage you to give Hermione enough to grasp where this could go? We're in unknown territory here. It could get rough."

"We'll talk. She's scary though. Nott and company have more to fear from her…" Ron shuddered just a little. Harry thought it looked genuine and wondered what trauma Ron was remembering.

After Ron left, Harry used the floo to return to Greengrass Manor. He was eager to get Fabio to his study and probe a little more into his relations with Lestrange. That there was a connection between Lestrange's drive to acquire Fabio's operations and Nott's shadowy clients seemed obvious to Harry, but he fought to keep in mind that the full picture had yet to emerge. Investigators were always in danger of wasting time chasing false leads while the obvious solution stared them in the face. Harry had seen more than one investigation collapse with no positive results because someone had been convinced of his own inerrant instinct.

Nevertheless, his absence from the family for the entire day precluded jumping directly into more business. He sat down with Daphne and Iolanthe to have a sandwich of leftover roast from dinner on Mad Monk bread and listen to whatever they had on their minds.

Iolanthe described her dinner in a nearly complete sentence: "Ap-pul puree dinner!"

The appropriate praise was generously supplied by both parents and grandparents.

Daphne and Kendra had called Lawrence Davis, who'd said, "Tomorrow okay?" when they'd asked about open dates for art shopping. They'd accepted immediately and Kendra was clearly anxious to get to Utica, and probably would have left directly and spent the night if Iolanthe wasn't due for a good night's sleep.

Harry had looked for Fabio at the Wizengamot, but only glimpsed him, briefly, across the chamber, and had been pulled aside by Kingsley before he could speak. He was eager to engage Fabio in conversation, to probe his thoughts on Nott's presentation, but kept his peace until he was able to get Fabio alone in his study.

"Mr. Greengrass," he began, "I found the subject matter this afternoon to be a bit more interesting than I normally would, thanks to our encounter with Georges Lestrange. Is there a connection there?"

Fabio didn't say anything right away. Eventually, he took a deep breath, then sighed. Harry thought he looked sad, as if he were on the verge of crying.

"Last year," Fabio began, "Georges Lestrange started making it a point to speak to me whenever our paths crossed. Social events or business lunches. I was more than busy enough with business, weddings and grandchildren, so I didn't put a lot of thought into it. He was just another trader. We had our own product lines and we didn't have a lot in common, so I didn't see anything sinister.

"Then, a couple of months back, the first buyout offer arrived. I turned him down. The next offer was more generous. It seemed to be a personal affront when I wouldn't take the money. I don't need the money. More money won't do anything for my family, and not having my suppliers to court would be a big chunk out of my fun allotment.

"Now he's resorting to threats, as you saw. Honestly, Harry, if you weren't my son-in-law, I think Kendra and the girls and I might have a problem, or worse."

Harry didn't say anything right away.

"Mr. Greengrass, is there a connection between Lestrange and Nott's project?" Harry asked.

"I honestly don't know," Fabio said. "Circumstances point that way. Nothing I've seen or heard confirms or precludes."

"Alright, then, at a slight angle from that," Harry began, "Are you now, or have you ever been involved in, or approached to become involved in, the movement of illicit funds, either internationally or between muggle and magical institutions in Britain?"

"No, Harry," Fabio said. "No one has tried to recruit me. Maybe I'm naïve, but that kind of thing hasn't even occurred to me. Although, with our offices and floos and the customary cash transactions we do, it does seem obvious, doesn't it?"

"Not necessarily," Harry said, "It all depends on one's perspective. Nott's reforms may have broad appeal. The percentage of people abusing the system he is proposing would be small, but the amounts of money they could hide would be sufficient to destabilize not just governments, but regions.

"I have another call to make before I call it a night. Mind if I use your fireplace?" Harry asked.

Fabio waved his hand and Harry took some floo powder, dropped it and said, "The Mill," disappearing with the green flames.


	17. Chapter 17

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Seventeen

Consultations

Harry crossed to the door, using his wand to illuminate the main room, and continued outside. He walked to the bench by the millstone this time, which gave him an unobstructed view of The Mill and the flat spot he planned to use for his next step. The extra stop wasn't perfect security, but Harry thought it ought to be good enough. If a witch or wizard with the skills to follow him to The Mill and onward was behind him, he had a bigger challenge ahead than slipping past a tail.

Harry waited five full minutes. With no sign of green light coming from inside, nor any 'pops' from an apparation nearby, he judged it safe enough for his next step, walked to the flat spot, and disapparated.

Hogsmeade was well-lit, for an unelectrified village, and Harry had no trouble navigating through the streets and onto the path to the gates to Hogwarts. The path was well-kept, there was just the beginning of moonrise, and Harry dispensed with his wand and walked toward the castle. The gates were secured, but Harry's wand got him in. Once inside, he cast his patronus and sent it ahead.

Horace Slughorn met Harry at the great entrance doors and led him back inside.

"So good to see you, Harry, how about some tea, or something a little stronger if you need to refresh from your journey?" said the Potion Master.

"Tea will be fine, Professor," Harry said. "Although, we may need two or three cups to work our way through this."

"Harry, it's about time you started calling me Horace, or Slughorn if that is just too much," said Slughorn. "We're colleagues now. I'm about to become your emeritus."

Harry sat where Slughorn indicated and waited while his old teacher got the tea steeping. When Slughorn sat down opposite Harry he got straight to business.

"What?"

"Kingsley asked me to attend this afternoon's session of the Wizengamot…" Harry began, and related a short version of the debate.

"This week was interesting for another reason…" and Harry followed up with Fabio's encounter with Lestrange, and Harry's part in that.

"Ron and Hermione are both looking into connections but there is nothing solid so far," Harry finished. "Nott, on the other hand, has an interesting client list…"

Harry summed up the corporate clients with repetitive associations with the looters who skimmed profits from vulnerable countries around the world and were always looking for ways to make the funds look respectable.

"If they found a way to move those into galleons and back into pounds, or dollars, or euros…" Slughorn said.

"That's what we thought," Harry said. "It's being couched in terms of an ordinary updating of outmoded custom and regulation, which will benefit magicals at all levels. The trouble won't come from the odd magical tourist, or even all the magical tourists at once. It would also be perfect for the fruits of graft and organized crime."

"Muggle organized crime. Once it's established…" Slughorn let the thought sit there, unfinished.

"Impossible to roll back. Every nefarious character in the world would line up to oppose the most innocuous regulation," Harry said. "It virtually guarantees exposure of our little magical minority to the worst elements of muggle society. Our financial system would become an appendage of convenience to the flows of graft the muggles are trying to control. If they can't get a grip on it, we won't be able to, either."

"Tough one," Slughorn said. "I have to say, Harry, this is the nicest retirement gift you could bring me. I've earned your confidence. That's very gratifying.

"Now, at this point," Slughorn continued, "You're on the right track, it appears. Between what Georges Lestrange showed you voluntarily and what your learned colleagues' research has turned up, the outlines of the threat are pretty clear. What you lack are the key facts of who has put this together and how many others are witting? What do you intend to do next?"

"Two more chats like this one," Harry said. "Let me have them before I tell you who they are. I promise to give you the full details later."

"Oh, good job, Harry," Slughorn said, obviously delighted. "Kingsley choosing you was a brilliant move. Now, has he said anything about your swearing-in? You're operating without your own portfolio at present, I'm afraid."

"We're supposed to talk this week," Harry said. "I don't know more than that."

Slughorn walked Harry back to the front door, after offering him the use of his fireplace to floo back to London. Harry declined. He was looking forward to using the walk back to Hogsmeade for clarifying everything in his mind prior to those next two conversations.

Harry sent his patronus on ahead to set up the next meeting. The second one would have to wait for the results of the first. Harry reached the Three Broomsticks. He nodded once to Madame Rosmerta then kept his head down and went straight to the fireplace. As he dropped his pinch of floo powder Harry said, "Morgan le Fay's."

Harry greeted Madame Ba at her desk in the foyer of the club.

"Go right on up, Mr. Potter," said Madame Ba, "Mr. Zabini is in the conference room with refreshments."

"Perfect, and thank-you," Harry said. He actually found Blaise in the library, jacket hanging over the wingback chair in which he was sitting, reading the Daily Prophet. The formalities consisted of one "Blaise," acknowledged with a "Harry."

When they got to the conference room Harry gestured at the walls and ceiling and said, "Maximum confidentiality, please."

"Sure," said Blaise, putting the cups and saucers in front of two places at the table. He drew his wand and cast a few silent spells, then asked, "Coffee? Or tea?"

"Coffee, please," Harry replied, taking his seat.

Harry rehashed the basic events as he'd done with Slughorn.

"Got anything to add?" Harry asked. "Anything the consultancy has stumbled across in the course of business.?"

"Not as such," Blaise said. "The problems in those countries you mentioned are well-enough known, but we haven't seen anyone trying to bring that money over to the magical side, or vice versa.

"Merlin, Harry," Blaise said, "It wouldn't stop with the currency, do you think? Give them a couple of years of access to the magical community through the financial systems and they'd want everything else, wouldn't they? How could we keep that bottled up? Some of those dictators spent every knut in their treasuries on muggle medicine to cheat death. Think what they'd be willing to do to get a healer to keep them alive. They'd try being _infieri_ if they ever heard of those."

Harry laughed out loud. Blaise' humor was a great relief after the strain of the past two days.

"That's just it," Harry said, reaching for his cup. "The financial changes would have to lead to more exposure and then it's just a matter of time until our community is fully visible to the muggles. Then we're a tiny minority of 'Others' who have mysterious powers. Then…"

Harry and Blaise stared into space, lost in their thoughts and recollections from History of Magic and Muggle Studies classes.

"Now, Georges Lestrange," Harry broke in. "Has he come to your attention?"

"Nothing solid, lots of gossip," Blaise said. "I wouldn't have cast him as a criminal mastermind, but that might be by design. Are you thinking this is something he came up with, or worked out with Nott?"

"He could have," Harry said. "He sounded like he really wanted to make a deal with Fabio. The next day Nott is proposing the banking and currency reforms that would put someone with a low-profile network of floos and international trade arrangements in a perfect position to facilitate the movement of currencies, outside of normal banking channels, free of regulation and proper record-keeping. It's very convenient. If that were the case, Lestrange would have to get his part done expeditiously, or they'd miss out on the opening of the new system."

They were on the verge of going into two, long, solitary fugue states when Harry stood up.

"Thanks for the coffee, Blaise," Harry said. "I have one final stop. I'll be in touch. Is there any time tomorrow you don't want to be interrupted?"

"Any time is fine, for something like this," Blaise said.

Harry threw caution to the winds, stepped into the fireplace in the foyer, dropped his floo powder and said, "Gringotts One."

"Chairman," Harry said, as he stepped out of the fireplace. "Good evening."

"Mr. Potter," said Ragnak, getting up from the settee. "Anvil advised me to go home and get some sleep, and I advised him you'd be here, when you were good and ready. Shall we go in?"

The board room was deafeningly quiet in the evening after the business day had ended. One wizard and one goblin sat across the great table. Harry suspected their conversation would be pivotal in determining the future of the distinct, non-muggle community of witches and wizards, goblins, elves and fauns in Britain, and possibly around the world.

"I have had some interesting experiences and conversations over the last forty-eight hours," Harry began.

"Go on," said Ragnak.

Harry began with the visitor, Georges Lestrange, who seemed to be overly concerned about not being able to acquire a small, specialized magical import/export firm.

He continued, outlining the inconclusive debate in the Wizengamot. He gave Ragnak anonymous versions of his conversations with Ron, Hermione, Horace Slughorn and Blaise Zabini. Then he got to the nugget with Ragnak.

"This is all to say there are people working on opening up the magical banking system, and Gringotts, to flows of muggle assets generated by graft, corruption, and organized crime. If Gringotts has a perspective it wants to share, I'm listening. On the surface, this looks sinister. If I'm mistaken, I sincerely need to be enlightened," Harry finished.

Ragnak gave his gurgling laugh.

"Mr. Potter, you have a way with words," he said. "So many wizards have that puffed-up way about them, not mentioning any names.

"Gringotts has been watching this situation develop, with great concern. The bank observes the strictest neutrality in disputes among wizards. We must be able to provide services to the entire community. Conflicts come, and conflicts go, but as a bank, and as individuals, we keep our sympathies, if we have any, to ourselves.

"The issue you've described, quite elegantly, for a non-financial wizard, is past the point where the bank can withhold its opinion, Mr. Potter. Among the bank's officers we are of one view—the additional business we _might_ get is not worth the mortal peril we believe we _must_ get if the so-called reforms are implemented. The bank will support you, if you move to end this," Ragnak said.

"Thank you, Mr. Chairman," Harry said. "If you and your colleagues read the situation the same way I did, that is a very big compliment. Now, liaison channels exist for a reason. If Gringotts has anything it wishes to pass along to the muggle Treasury, which will of course have its own enforcement concerns, I can't think of a better time to do so than right now. Thank you for seeing me."

Harry and Ragnak shook hands and Ragnak accompanied Harry to the small paneled room that housed Gringotts One. Harry asked for Greengrass Manor and exited via the library fireplace. Harry went upstairs and found Iolanthe asleep, so he leaned over and gave her a kiss and told her he loved her before going on to his and Daphne's room. Daphne lay propped up in bed reading a healer journal by lamplight.

"It's too dim for that, Healer," Harry scolded. He pulled off his clothes and headed for the shower, took a quick rinse and dried off.

"We need to turn that out. I would like to see you ladies get an early start tomorrow. If you have to, leave here and hang out at Grimmauld Place until the sun comes up in Utica," said Harry, in a very authoritative tone.

"You expect fireworks," said Daphne, her tone disapproving, yet interested.

"Just a precaution," Harry said.


	18. Chapter 18

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Eighteen

Collapse and Aftermath

Breakfast was not subdued at all. Harry had assurances everyone would be out of Greengrass Manor expeditiously. Kendra, Daphne and Iolanthe were going to spend a little time together at #12 Grimmauld Place before traveling to pick out art in Utica. The trip was planned to go through Torshavn, where Fabio would be serving tea to some harvesters of lichen breath. Harry planned to go by floo to the flat, whence he would make one or two public appearances in the neighborhood, just to give anyone who was interested a chance to briefly get a fix on his location.

Harry accomplished his planned siting opportunities. Back at the flat he checked his watch and used the floo to get to the ministry. His new department was not in the ministry proper. It had a building nearby that was camouflaged at ground level with a combination muggle bookstore and espresso bar flanked by a pasty shop. A nondescript pedestrian door set at an angle in the corner of the structure was the only indication the building was anything other than a London business block with offices or apartments on the upper floors. The door incorporated a peculiar bit of magic that caused it to disappear when anyone, muggle or wizard, looked directly at it.

Harry got a coffee to go from the espresso bar and walked along the front of the building, turning into the doorway when he got to the corner, being careful to keep his eyes averted. Oddly enough, his hand went directly to the door handle without any looking on his part.

There was a long desk just inside, staffed by a white-haired gentleman in a tail coat, wing collar and pearl necktie.

"Mr. Potter!" he said. "Welcome. Are you officially here? We weren't informed, please forgive us for not preparing a proper reception. My name is Jubal."

"Is it really?" Harry asked.

"No," the man said, sounding just a bit put out, "The name goes with the position. For some reason, anyone who takes this job becomes Jubal."

"Could be worse, I suppose," Harry speculated. "Ham, Jezebel, Melchizedek…"

"Very kind of you to say so, sir," Jubal said, brightening up immediately. "The Head of Department left instructions to send you right on up. Do you know the way to his office?"

"I do," Harry said, wondering to himself how Slughorn had anticipated his movements.

"Feel free to go then, sir," Jubal said. "You're the Head of Department-designate and you have the freedom of the building."

Harry liked the arrangement personally but wondered about the security ramifications.

Slughorn's outer office staff rose when he entered. Harry could see everyone expected him to make the rounds, so he kept his impatience in check, shaking all the hands and trying to put names with faces. When he was finished Slughorn appeared at the door to the inner office and motioned him in.

"Thought you'd be here," Slughorn said, ushering him in.

"All I wanted was a cubbyhole and a floo," Harry said. "As long as I'm here, though, I can give you an update."

"Let's do that," Slughorn said, sitting down and motioning Harry to a chair. "I see you brought your own sustenance."

"This is really good," Harry said of his coffee. "All those years wasted drinking ministry cafeteria blend.

"Anyway, I stopped by to see Blaise last night. He shared my concerns about the longer-term effects. He didn't have any new information but promised to look into it."

"Ragnak was waiting for me by the fireplace in the little room. We talked through the issue, which the bank has been following for some time, and I was informed the bank officers' consensus is the further de-regulation of exchange arrangements is a threat to the magical world, a view I share. I noted it might be time to use the liaison channel between Gringotts and the muggle Treasury to express his concern."

"Very good, Harry," Slughorn said. "Now, here are some things your friends have sent over, anticipating your arrival, which I've just taken the liberty of throwing together in this folder. To summarize, the consensus is Lenard Nott and Georges Lestrange seem to be the principals in the scheme, there may be others who see parts but probably not all, and the analysts in this building do not have information that contradicts what Ron, Hermione and Blaise have provided, nor the conclusions you've reached on your own.

"You'll be fixed up with some space now, and regular reports. Take your coffee. Sit back and enjoy the show."

"This way, Mr. Potter," said one of the outer office staff before conducting him to a modest office with a desk, a chair, and two guest chairs. There was no filing cabinet, nor did Harry see In and Out boxes. He hypothesized that occupants of that particular space had instant access to assistants with better filing and distribution skills than his, so all he had to do with any parchment generated under his hand was call for someone who'd know just where to send it, or save it, as the case may be.

Harry walked around the office, sipping his coffee. He opened an interior door and saw that he had a private bathroom. Another was a door for a closet with a bar, wooden hangers, and a shelf.

He had just completed his tour when a staff member delivered a file folder. He sat down in the swivel chair behind the desk and opened the file. There were several sheets of paper with terse situation reports along the lines of "Serious Fraud Office delivers Notification of Suspicious Activity and Suspension of Trading" and "Accounts Frozen" for divisions of Nott and Lestrange companies. Taken altogether, the actions represented serious blows to any company, regardless of size.

Harry hadn't followed up with his travelers, and it seemed the prudent thing to do, to at least floo-call Greengrass Manor and #12 Grimmauld Place and determine if all was regular at both locations. Better yet, he thought, might be a quick trip to #12, and a short debrief there, with perhaps a check-in with Fabio to confirm he'd gotten to Torshavn as planned.

Harry got the location of a floo network fireplace from the staff in the outer office, advised he'd be back after a short excursion, and took the floo directly to #12. Exiting the fireplace in the salon, Harry listened for voices, heard some, and followed them down the hall to Daphne's study. The door was open, and Harry was about to knock on the wooden trim when Iolanthe shouted, "DA-DA!"

Daphne, Kendra and Iolanthe were all in the study, a little duffle at Daphne's feet, packed and ready for departure. It took little time to confirm that Fabio had gotten off to Torshavn and the trio would be leaving shortly.

"I need to make a suggestion," Harry said.

"I'm sure we'd like to hear that," said Daphne.

"You might want to take an extra day in Utica. Actually, once you're in the States, you could take an extra day anywhere," Harry said, as the afterthought occurred to him.

"The thing is…" he began, or tried to.

"You've kicked a hornets' nest, haven't you?" Daphne asked.

"Not exactly," Harry said, sounding a bit defensive. "There are some regulatory and police bodies that took a closer look at some businesses, law firms and so on, and found cause for a bit of official action to protect the public."

"Georges Lestrange's firm among them, of course," Daphne said, exchanging a quick look with Kendra.

"Yes, so," Harry said, "Lestrange could, possibly, associate his dispute with Fabio over the Greengrass enterprises, and with me, someone who poked his nose into Lestrange's business affairs, with the official bodies' actions today. Thus, it occurred to me that the three of you, who have done nothing to call you to his attention, could take a girls' overnight to Marigold's and gorge on room service, or whatever catches your attention."

"Harry Potter," said Kendra and Daphne together. There followed two overlapping soliloquies, each attempting to show Harry how his position failed the reasonable person test. Harry stood his ground until Iolanthe climbed onto his lap, took two handfuls of shirt and said, "Da-da, NO!"

"So there," said Daphne.

"Right," Harry said. "I stand corrected. However, I want you to consider bringing everyone here when you come back. All of us can be comfortable, we'll be able to support each other in case of trouble, and #12 likes this sort of thing."

Harry tried not to, but his eyes just had to glance at Walburga's portrait. She didn't say anything, but she nodded once and gave him an approving look.

"Once we've established that all is quiet and regular, we'll go on. Maybe a picnic at Potter Manor, if the weather is favorable," Harry continued. "We'll walk through the house and discuss the options for the most tasteful distribution."

The last was over the top but the adult witches let that pass, exchanging "Mm-hmm" sounds and seeming to be in agreement that Harry'd suggested something that really would be a smashingly good use of their time.

"Now, can I see you off to Torshavn?" Harry asked.

"Do you have something to get back to?" Daphne asked.

"Me?" responded Harry. "I'm unemployed."

"Actually, Daphne, I think Harry's suggestion is very well-reasoned. If we have everyone here, there's no going back and forth, no floo-calls every fifteen minutes, and this house…Well, it's a fort, isn't it?" Kendra observed.

"Fine," Daphne said. "We'll be your hosts for a change. Let's see…Kreacher?"

"Kreacher is here, Mistress," Kreacher said when he'd materialized with a little 'pop.'

"Kreacher," Daphne said, "it looks like we may be coming back this evening to spend the night with Father and Mother here at #12, so if you could just make sure they have a room ready and freshened up, and a little extra for all of us for breakfast tomorrow morning."

"Of course, Mistress," Kreacher replied. "Everything will be ready."

"Isn't she something?" Harry asked Kendra after Kreacher returned to the kitchen. Kendra gave Harry a wink, and he stood up.

"I'd like to get you on your way, now, please," Harry said. "Give my best to Fabio. Stay in touch."

Harry had carried Iolanthe in his arms as he tried to herd the witches toward the small fireplace. Kendra took the duffle and went first, after floo-calling Fabio's office to confirm he was there and they could come through. Harry switched Iolanthe to Daphne's arms and gave them both a kiss before Daphne dropped her floo powder and declared her destination to be 'Greengrass Torshavn.'

Harry's first inhalation following the 'WHOOSH' of the green flames had a little catch in it, but the moment passed, and he called out to Kreacher that he was leaving, then entered the salon to use the fireplace in there.

Harry realized he hadn't gotten his new building's floo addresses, so he went to the ministry, intending to take the short walk to his building when Ron Weasley intercepted him crossing the atrium.

"Harry!" Ron began, obviously excited. "Have you heard?"

Harry considered Ron's question.

"One wouldn't know, would one?" he countered. "Could you be more specific?"

"The law firm where Lenard Nott parks his robe, the muggle firm, I mean, represented some unsavory characters," Ron began. "No surprise. Unsavory characters need lawyers under our system, don't they?"

Harry agreed, wondering just where Ron was headed.

"The firm got raided this morning. The muggle firm. Ministry Serious Fraud has sealed his magical files preparatory to seizing them," Ron said. "Georges Lestrange has a warehouse in the customs bond compound with all kinds of disillusionment and who knows what other kinds of charms, and it was raided by the ministry, including some of your old crew, and it looks like he has been trading lots and lots of contraband and counterfeits. They're a mess, both of them. This is just the first few hours."

"You know they'll tie it up in court for months, years, maybe," Harry said.

"True, but they won't be able to do what they've been doing," Ron said. "At the very least the disruption is going to be very costly. So, well-done, Harry. It's been going on all along, and you put the pieces together so someone could finally do something about it."

"Ron, please," Harry said. "I asked a question. Your time in the stacks was the key. Once the reform plan was seen in the light of Nott's client list, and that put together with Lestrange's fixation on Fabio's little but well-located operations, the rest just fell into place."

"Oh," Ron said. "Well, then. Buy you a coffee? Tea?"

"Have to go to outside for maybe half an hour," Harry said. "Right here in thirty minutes?"

"Of course," Ron said.

Harry checked his watch, because he really wanted to be back a few minutes early. A cup of tea or coffee with Ron was very high on his priority list in unsettled times. They could compare notes and complement one another's thinking, often seeing things when they put their heads together that they had missed flying solo.

Everything was moving along nicely on the police activity. Preliminary inspection of documents indicated tax evasion charges, at the very least, would be forthcoming for both Nott and Lestrange. If that were the extent of the criminality, the records would still reveal much more about the financial connections between multiple entities that had been successful in concealing the scope of their activities from oversight for years. Harry looked at the updated situation reports that had arrived after he'd left for #12. He also looked through the documents Slughorn had passed on from Ron, Hermione and Blaise.

Taken together, the reports gave Harry a synopsized view of the scheme Lestrange and Nott had developed to incorporate the magical economy into their international tax avoidance and corruption-abetting enterprise. They'd gotten very close to putting it all together. Harry hoped they'd at least be distracted enough by their legal woes to lack time for similar efforts for the foreseeable future.

"These can be destroyed," Harry said as he entered the outer office. One of the staff accepted the folder and turned toward the fireplace. "I'll be going to the ministry, probably for thirty or forty minutes. Is Mr. Slughorn here?"

"No, sir, returned to Hogwarts a short while ago," volunteered one of the staff.

"I'll be back soon," Harry advised, leaving the suite.

Harry loitered in the ministry atrium for a few minutes before Ron arrived. A few people nodded as they passed by, although none spoke.

"Where to?" Ron asked as he walked up. "Cafeteria?"

"Let's go out," Harry said. "I found a little café…"

Harry led the way and soon had them both fixed up with a cup of excellent coffee.

"Walk?" Harry asked.

"Good day for it," Ron replied.

They made the coffee last for three blocks out and back. Exhausting the case and what they knew of the investigation to that point, they prepared to split up back in the atrium.

"Be careful, Harry," Ron said. "Nott is a lawyer. He's calculating how to minimize damage, or at least mitigate it, right now. Lestrange leans toward criminality. At the very least he's a smuggler and dealer in purloined antiquities. That's already established. He's not in custody, either. Does the new job come with some security?"

"Haven't gotten to that yet," Harry said. "I'd rather not have the people underfoot, but we'll see."

The subject came up again in the evening as the family returned from their day abroad. Fabio and Kendra arrived first, popping out of the fireplace in the salon. There was a pause and Harry heard a 'WHOOSH' coming from Daphne's study. Everyone congregated in the main hallway, talking over one another and asking for updates.

Kreacher had a tray of sandwiches and both hot and cold tea ready for the travelers. Daphne directed everyone to the dining room, asking Kreacher to bring the food there, along with some hot towels. Harry delivered a synopsis, as complete as he could be and stay in the public domain.

"It's not over, I'm afraid," Harry said. "Whether Lestrange connects his misfortune to Mr. Greengrass, or me, or not. He's at large. We need to be careful."

"People like him take the fun out of business," Fabio said.

"What happened in Utica?" Harry asked.

"We ran up a few galleons' tab," Daphne said. "Iolanthe has sunk her claws deeply into Uncle Larry and controlled his every movement. He's getting the paintings ready to ship and scrubbing his calendar for the earliest possible date to visit and hang art on our walls."

"It was a wonderful day, Harry," Kendra said. "Such a nice touch on your part to think of a pleasant way to send us into exile."

"I…really," Harry tried, but couldn't come up with a response.

No one had any desire to stay up and rehash the day any further, so bed time came fairly quickly.

Harry was up before anyone else and minimized his morning routine before departing for the department and an update on the Nott/Lestrange situation.

Harry greeted Jubal in the building lobby and headed up to his office. A file labeled 'Mr Potter' lay closed on his desk. The summaries inside were terse, but informative, synopses of the previous day's events. They ran a kind of spectrum from unannounced inspections that led to suspensions of activity, seizure of some records and sealing of others, to the seizure of an entire bonded warehouse that was found to be holding protected species, and artifacts that were sacrosanct as part of the national patrimony of several countries.

Lestrange and Nott had so many shady deals going on that just identifying all the questionable activities would keep investigators busy for a year or more. Harry read through twice, looking for some kind of disposition for the principals. Nott was in custody, although a short note at the bottom of a page stated he had asked for his legal counsel after stating that he would cooperate fully since he had done nothing illegal. Lestrange, on the other hand, was not accounted for.

A small number of staffers had arrived by the time Harry was done reading. He asked where he could destroy some documents and was shown a fireplace where he could safely cast _incendio._

Reading done, Harry took his leave of the duty staff and headed for #12 Grimmauld Place. Everyone was awake except for Iolanthe, who was still feeling the effects of the previous day's over-full calendar.

After a late breakfast everyone departed for Potter Manor for a walk-through and art-hanging planning session. Fabio hadn't seen the new building in its current state of substantial completion, so Harry took him on a tour.

Catching up with the witches in the main floor salon, Fabio congratulated Daphne on her excellent design skills. Kreacher had sent cheese sandwiches and several bottles of mineral water, so everyone convened on the patio, which held the only furniture Harry and Daphne had purchased for the new family seat. Fabio and Kendra left after lunch to return to Greengrass Manor.

"Want to stay awhile?" Daphne asked.

"Sure," Harry said. "I might lean back in this chair, put my feet up, and take a little nap. This sunshine is quite the sleeping draught."

Daphne unzipped the duffle she'd brought, removed a blanket and spread it on the ground. Ever since Iolanthe was born, she and Daphne had enjoyed a little private ritual. Daphne would transform into a lynx, and Iolanthe would crawl all over her, curl up beside her, sometimes resting her head against the purring lynx while she drank from a bottle and stared into the distance with a thoughtful look on her face. Approximately thirty minutes later that was exactly how the Potter family was arranged when Harry heard a 'pop' in the distance somewhere and sat up in his chair.

It wasn't long before the source of the sound was apparent as Georges Lestrange strode into the grounds around Potter Manor, wand in hand, and called out Harry.

"Draw your wand, Potter," Lestrange shouted.

"That would be redundant, Lestrange," Harry called out, twisting his wrist so his wand was visible in front of him.

"You ruined a deal I've been working on for a year and got your ministry toadies to do the dirt for you!" Lestrange shouted.

"Whomever you've been talking to has led you astray, Lestrange," Harry said. "I'm unemployed, barely a reserve with the aurors now. Too many dustups to count. I'm washed up, invalided out. Send Ralph Mann an owl, if you don't believe me, or ask your solicitors to contact him."

Lestrange had attracted the attention of the other Potters present, but he was so focused on Harry it didn't appear he was aware of them. Iolanthe collected herself and started to stand up before the lynx put a paw on her shoulder and sat her back down on the blanket. The lynx gave a little growl and kept her paw on Iolanthe's back, ready to push her aside if necessary.

"Lestrange, if there is a warrant out for your arrest, why not disapparate, go to the ministry, and speak to someone? You'd probably get bonded out. If you want to fight this, you won't help your case by attacking me," Harry suggested.

Lestrange wasn't hearing what Harry had to say, though, and cast some kind of curse. Harry blocked it without a lot of trouble, and got ready to stand up, as it seemed Lestrange wanted to make a fight of it. Harry hadn't gotten to his feet, though, before Lestrange fell to the ground, screaming and shaking one of his legs. Harry was vaguely aware of Iolanthe saying something from her blanket, but his focus was on Lestrange. He didn't put the two together until it occurred to him that he was listening to some pretty complex sentences from his daughter. That meant he was hearing Iolanthe in parseltongue, in which she'd been fluent since birth.

Harry ran to Lestrange, racing to get there before Iolanthe and Daphne, or rather the lynx.

"Get back!" Iolanthe shouted, finally getting through to Harry.

Lestrange appeared to be trying to bring his wand to bear on his own leg. He put his hand on the ground to maneuver and temporarily lost the wand. Harry saw the wand free and shouted " _Accio wand_!" Daphne had transformed back to Daphne, saw Lestrange was wandless, and silently cast the mildest stunning spell she could think of. Lestrange calmed down, wobbly but not completely out.

"Potter, Greengrass, Black!" Harry heard. He realized he was listening to Iolanthe. Harry turned and looked at Daphne.

"I think we'd better let her handle it," he said, then, switching to parseltongue when he spoke to Iolanthe, "Iolanthe Astoria, I want you to call them off. They need to go to the woods now."

Harry stood next to Daphne and looked at the woozy Lestrange. Three adders were between the Potters and their attacker. Their coloration was slightly divergent, and Harry couldn't help wondering if Iolanthe had managed to color code them. Even while he was thinking it he knew it was a frivolous thought, although, with magic…

"Back to the woods, lads," Iolanthe said in parseltongue. The snakes were down in the grass, and invisible, in seconds. Harry followed their progress for a bit by watching the motion of the grass.

"What is she saying?" Daphne asked Harry, some urgency apparent in her voice.

"Iolanthe," Harry began in parseltongue, "You didn't need to do that. We're very grateful but you must understand it is Mum's and my job to protect you."

"I know, Father, but they'd come over and wanted to help out, so I let them, as long as they didn't get too carried away," Iolanthe replied.

"She sent the snakes back to the woods. She says they came to help out and she let them, as long as they didn't get too carried away. I think that might mean our visitor got off lucky. Do you want to assess him here or get him to St. Mungo's?" Harry asked.

Daphne considered for a moment, then cast her patronus. It wasn't very solid-looking in the full daylight, but it sat on its haunches and looked eager to hear its instructions.

"I need you to go to the emergency section at St. Mungo's and give this message to the healer in charge today.

"This is Daphne Potter, and we have a possible snakebite victim in Devon. He'll need transport to the nearest magical facility that can handle snakebites. The patronus will bring you back."

"Impressive," Harry said, watching the patronus bound away before dissolving in the daylight. "Want to take a look? Do you remember your snakebite classes from healer school?"

"It's not that hard," Daphne said. "Ask Iolanthe what she meant by not letting them get carried away."

"Not bad, not bad," Iolanthe said in a kind of sing-song, showing off her growing command of English.

"Hmmph," Daphne said. "Let's see, then."

Daphne moved her wand as if she were drawing an imaginary line in the air, and a slit appeared in Lestrange's trouser leg. Another movement of the wand tip folded the fabric back and Daphne got a look at the little puncture wounds, of which there were three pairs in the center of three red patches.

Lestrange was sitting up looking at his lower leg. He didn't seem particularly upset. Daphne bent over and passed her wand over the leg, then over Lestrange.

"Iolanthe Astoria," Daphne said.

"Mum," said Iolanthe, reaching up.

Daphne scooped up Iolanthe and held the toddler on her hip. The lynx trotted up then dissolved, making Daphne's wand vibrate slightly. It was accompanied by a patronus fox that bore a message from the emergency department:

"Healer Greengrass, two of the staff are on the way. There is a ministry health facility in Dartmouth that can take your patient."

The fox was no sooner finished than two 'pops' sounded and the emergency staffers walked up.

"Snakebite?" one asked.

"Looks like it," Daphne said. "We saw snakes, but they didn't stay around. The wounds look bad but there isn't the discoloration I've seen in venomous snake bites. I'm wondering if the attack was less than full venom discharge."

"We'll take every precaution," said the other emergency staffer, pulling a pad out of a wrapper. She put the pad over the area with the puncture wounds. "This is a pain reliever and drawing poultice. Have you ever had occasion to use one? They're very effective, especially if the fangs didn't go deep."

The two got Lestrange to his feet, put him between them with their arms around his waist and disapparated.

"Fast," Harry observed. "That's a real confidence builder."

"Shall we sit down, Iolanthe?" Daphne asked.

Iolanthe nodded vigorously. Daphne led the way to the chairs on the patio.

Once she'd gotten everyone seated, Daphne looked at Harry.

"Can you translate, if necessary?" Daphne asked.

"I think so," Harry said. "Don't get too fancy with the sentence structures."

"Iolanthe Astoria, Mum and Dad are very proud of you," Daphne began. "We know you wanted to help by protecting us from that man. If he remembers being bitten, he may stay angry at snakes. Do you understand?"

Iolanthe looked at Harry.

"Mum and Dad are proud of you," Harry said in parseltongue. "Mum says the man may be angry at snakes now."

Iolanthe frowned her angriest frown.

"He is a bad man," she said. "The snakes hurt him so he wouldn't hurt Dad."

Harry translated for Daphne, who reached over and pulled Iolanthe to her.

"I know, Sweetie, and you only wanted them to stop the man from hurting Dad, didn't you?" she said.

"Did you understand?" Harry asked, speaking parseltongue.

Iolanthe nodded.

"Should we take a walk?" Harry asked.

Iolanthe climbed down and stood on the flagstones.

"Walk," she said, holding up a hand.

"Let's go see if we can find Plum," Harry said to Daphne.


	19. Chapter 19

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Nineteen

The Potters of Potter Manor

The Potters did find Plum, just the way Plum had said they would. They left word at the woods and Plum appeared shortly afterwards. They would eventually meet a number of Plum's associates from the neighborhood, and negotiate a mutually-agreeable division of the immediate property into land suitable and reserved for revels, and land that should be kept free of fireworks and bonfires, due to the proximity of buildings. A portion of the reveling ground was to be a green, with the grass clipped, and a portion of that set aside for the performance of pantomimes and farces. Harry offered to bring a distinguished magical landscape architect to design the plantings to frame a proper stage. Harry mentioned that he was James Potter's son, and was touched by the number of woodland creatures who sought him out to share a reminiscence of something James had done for, or with, his woodland pals. If James had gotten out of bounds during the revels, for it was obvious he had attended them many times, the fauns and sprites and tree spirits kept any indiscretions to themselves.

The Potters were assured they had a permanent invitation to any woodland fetes and observances. The Potters expressed thanks, and asked the woodlanders' assistance in keeping an eye on the manor when the family was away.

The hanging of art in the new house took on the aspect of a major holiday. Professor Davis stayed at Greengrass Manor. He spent one half day with his mother, who was actually pretty lucid most of the time, although Kendra supplied a strategic prompt at certain critical points in their conversations. Mrs. Davis had managed the aging process quite well in regard to her mental faculties, but around the time she celebrated her one hundredth birthday, her physical plant began to show signs of aging. She had become quite frail and spent most days in a stuffed wing chair that was placed to give her a view out a front window of her home. Her physical exertions consisted of a walk from her ground floor bedroom to her breakfast room, then to her chair in the salon that looked out her favorite window. She usually sat there until nearly time for lunch, receiving a caller now and then, reading from a volume of Elizabeth Browning, enjoying one cup of yellow label tea, with lemon, at half-past ten.

Kendra and Daphne agreed at the beginning of construction that it was unlikely Mrs. Davis would ever be able to visit the new Potter Manor in person, so they had shown her a few of the elevations Fabio had done, along with a small number of photos to keep her informed of the progress of the project. Lawrence and Kendra brought photos of the major paintings they were hanging, and a copy of the plan for the house, and took their mother on a virtual tour, showing her where each of the paintings would be hung.

Mrs. Davis stayed involved with the conversation, most of the time, and dropped little compliments here and there.

"Oh, Daphne, that will look so lovely in the salon," she'd enthused.

"Lawrence, that painting is much too dark. Your personality is all sunny skies. I look at that one and I worry for you," she'd said. "Now, THIS one is more like it…"

Besides Lawrence, Kendra and Daphne had brought Harry and Iolanthe. Mrs. Davis loved seeing Iolanthe running about, but in order for Daphne to do anything besides chase after Iolanthe, she needed someone to do that while she visited with her grandmother. Mrs. Davis had been wary when Daphne and Harry had first been mentioned as a couple. Because of her age, she had not participated directly in the Second Wizarding War, but she had followed events and the majority of her circle were pureblood enthusiasts who were convinced that the Dark Lord Voldemort was just the leader the purebloods had been lacking, who would set things right, first within the magical society, then in Britain as a whole.

Harry, of course, had put a stop to those ambitions, a historical fact that would not be affected by the passage of time. It was not until Iolanthe Astoria came that Mrs. Davis truly warmed to Harry. The sight of Iolanthe crawling on Harry and calling him 'Da-da' seemed to have shown he was capable of something more than crushing pureblood hopes and living to tell the tale.

Harry chose the chair directly across from Mrs. Davis when the family convened for lunch. Tracey and Astoria arrived, accompanied by Scorpius. Harry held Iolanthe and ignored his own plate while Iolanthe ate from hers, using both hands on her steamed carrots and peas. Mrs. Davis participated from her side by calling out to the Davis elves for a steady supply of damp face cloths for both Iolanthe and Scorpius.

The tea and coffee arrived just as Mrs. Davis was showing signs of being in desperate need of her post-lunch nap. Tracey and Kendra helped her up from her chair and stayed at her sides while she walked back to her bedroom, fussing at them the whole way, assuring everyone she did this every day and had never had a problem. Lawrence walked as far as his mother's room and gave her a kiss on both cheeks and his assurances that he would not wait so long before coming for a visit next time.

Tracey had come through for Harry and Daphne by the time of Lawrence's visit, recruiting an elf to support Potter Manor and the Black estate. Periwinkle had been attached to the household of an elderly witch who spent her last three decades on Earth in a slow and elegant decline, ending her days in a silk kimono, propped up on pillows, a pot of oolong on the side table. She was in the middle of a complex appreciation of the superiority of young witches she remembered from her own youth, in comparison to the current crop of air-headed, hormone-addled ingenues, who should be spending their time studying magical household management and honing their hostess skills instead of filling their heads with fantasies of doing magical social work with underprivileged magical youth, or, alternatively, concerning themselves with the latest scandals as reported in the Daily Prophet or Witch Weekly, when she suddenly clutched at the closure of her kimono, said "OH!" one time, and toppled forward, the momentum nearly sending her right off her couch and onto the floor.

Her octogenarian interlocutor, still in the bloom of youth, in comparison to Periwinkle's mistress, sprang to her aid, fairly nimbly for an eighty-year-old, calling for Periwinkle to come, call the healers, bring a damp towel, and help get her mistress upright, all at once. Periwinkle did get her mistress upright, and she did call the healers, but it was too late. If humans live long enough, they arrive at the point where they simply wear out. Her heirs consulted among themselves, trying to fit Periwinkle into their own domestic schemes, and finally, bringing Periwinkle into their discussions, explained that they were at a loss as to where any one of them could employ Periwinkle.

Tracey, who had become a de facto social media network in her own right, as far as household elf employment went, asked Periwinkle to come for tea at Greengrass Manor. She introduced Daphne and Kendra, and the Greengrass elves, and Daphne and Periwinkle decided to bring Periwinkle into the Potter household. Daphne was careful in her description of Periwinkle's duties. She explained the relationships between the Potters and Kreacher, Trix and Winky. Each of them were members of the family constellation and had existing duties and responsibilities. Periwinkle was coming to the family to handle house elf duties at Potter Manor and the Black estate.

Periwinkle, for her part, was thrilled to join a young family. She was devoted to her late mistress and was sad to see her go. At the same time, one old witch with so little physical stamina did not come close to taxing the abilities of an accomplished house elf. Periwinkle had been genuinely worried that she would live out her own life in a kind of one-dimensional household, when she longed for the cacophony of requests and contradictory demands of a position with management responsibilities for varying ages, personalities, and magical abilities.

The opportunity to participate in the outfitting and commissioning of a new family seat was an additional sweetener. Success in that venture would give an elf a special position in the house elf community. New wizarding homes were not unheard of, but to work for the Potters during the inauguration of the new Potter Manor, which Harry and Daphne had designed and built to replace the one destroyed by the Dark Lord Voldemort, was a once-in-several-lifetime's chance. To work alongside Mistress while she furnished her new home, to consult on household magical issues, spells, charms, and wards, was to infuse one's own spirit and personality into the house.

Daphne was working her way through the equipping and commissioning process in a methodical way. She had only so many hours to devote to the house, her responsibilities to Iolanthe and her patients getting the higher priority. She acquired a basic kitchen outfit through Seamus and Dean, utilizing Kreacher as a consultant. Neither Harry nor Daphne thought Kreacher ought to be taken away from his Grimmauld Place duties to follow them around as a chef, but Daphne did have Kreacher come to the new manor and prepare lunch on the weekends. Afterwards she made a point of joining Kreacher in the kitchen while Harry, or Tracey, handled Iolanthe. Asked the right open-ended questions, Kreacher was a source of information on all things kitchen-related. He had years of experience working with the Hogwarts kitchen elves, as well as the kitchen at #12. His knowledge of magical culinary practice was not only voluminous but current, and Kreacher was always bringing new dishes or ways of preparing and serving old dishes to the Potters' attention.

Harry and Daphne worked their way into living at the new Potter Manor, gradually establishing a cycle of movements between the Black estate, the new Manor, and #12 Grimmauld Place. Harry didn't get a lot of use out of his London flat, but every time he started to think seriously about selling it, it suddenly became useful, so he ended up hanging onto it.

One Wednesday afternoon in the late winter following Iolanthe's second birthday, Harry returned from his office to #12 Grimmauld Place and found Tracey Davis and Daphne sitting in Daphne's study.

"Come on in, Harry," Tracey said. She looked at Daphne. "Why not? He might as well hear it from me, now. It will probably be in the Daily Prophet tomorrow."

"Anything wrong?" Harry asked, pulling a chair away from the wall and turning to face the witches.

"No," Tracey said. "It could turn out to be the most-right thing I've done in my life, up to now. I'm pregnant. The Davis clan will be expanding by one, forty weeks from New Year's Day."

"Oh," Harry said. "Who's the lucky guy?"

"Blaise," said Tracey.

"Blaise?" Harry said. He looked at Daphne. "I didn't know you were seeing Blaise. What's wrong with our usual informants?"

"It's not Daphne's fault, Harry," Tracey said. "Your usual informants didn't know. Blaise likes the Caribbean. I like the Caribbean. I'd planned a trip to Tobago, just a few days over the New Year, and on a whim I floo-called Blaise to tell him I'd be in Speyside if he wanted to drink rum and dance all night, and he showed up. It was Tobago, rum, the most infectious music, dancing, maybe a little sweat on both of us…"

"Ah, Nature, I get it," Harry said.

"Exactly, Harry! I knew you'd see it immediately," Tracey said. "He's so smart, Daphne! It's not fair!"

"Blaise is smart," Harry said. "He has accomplished considerably more right now than lots of wizards accomplish in their lifetimes. Does he know? What does he think?"

"Harry…" Daphne started to ask him to be careful about that level of personal matter, but Tracey waved her off.

"It's fine, Daphne, really," she said. "They have to work together, it's better Harry really understands the situation.

"Blaise knows. We've talked about all those things. Raising the baby, marriage, names, all of it. Blaise is a gentleman. He told me the truth, that he hadn't thought about me as a long-term partner, but he offered to marry me. I turned him down, at least for now. I don't want someone who's marrying me to 'do the right thing.' Blaise and I have known one another forever and I hadn't thought about him as a long-term partner, either. When I thought it over it felt better to think of him as a long-term father to his child, who I see at family functions and with whom I have the most cordial relations. It does not feel as good to think of him as my husband. If Blaise wants to tell you this, it's okay, but don't repeat what I said, the way I said it, please? When I say it, it sounds hurtful, and it's not meant that way. I'm pretty sure he feels just the same as I do, but he is much too well-mannered to say so."

"In that case, Tracey, on behalf of Daphne and myself, the Potters have a place for you and the young Davis, pretty much every place we go, so don't stand on ceremony. You're always welcome," Harry said.

"Oh, Harry," Tracey said, trying to suppress sniffles as she pulled Harry into a hug. She let him go and tried to say some more, but couldn't get the words out.

"You tell him," she said to Daphne.

"Some of the Davises said some very unkind things to Tracey, Harry," Daphne said. "She needs her friends, her real friends, to close ranks and stand by her."

"Oh-h-h, Tracey, that's really too bad," Harry said. "The shame is on them, isn't it? Not you, and certainly not your child. You've been the best friend possible to Daphne, not counting Astoria. Come any time, stay as long as you like."

Harry looked at Daphne. "Right?"

"Absolutely," Daphne said. "You're one of us."

"Okay, thanks," Tracey said as she dabbed her eyes.

"You'll have to authorize Tracey to come and go," Harry said to Daphne.

"Already taken care of, Potter," Walburga's portrait chimed in.

"Now," Daphne said, "It does get just a little more complicated, so bear with me. Iolanthe is going to be getting a sibling. The runes say a brother. A week or ten days before Tracey's baby, if both are right on time."

"Oh," Harry said. He tilted his head back and squinted at the ceiling. "Our first night in our new room?"

"Exactly. Didn't I tell you he'd be a prodigy if only he'd been born a witch?" Daphne asked Tracey. "That night we stayed at the manor, Iolanthe in her new, semi-big-girl room, and ourselves in the master suite."

"Gosh, that is kind of special, isn't it?" asked Harry. "Isn't that something? I guess we won't ever forget where we were when young Master Potter got started. If that's of interest to anyone."

"Yes, and a fitting bookend to Iolanthe and the Mill," Daphne said.

"Does Iolanthe know?" Harry asked.

"I told her in English," Daphne said. "I showed her my tummy and explained babies, but I don't know how much she understood, if anything."

"I guess we'll have to do it in parseltongue, then," Harry said. "She understands that well enough."

Within the next hour Harry had done just that. He sat down in the kitchen with Iolanthe over some steamed vegetables and a glass of pumpkin juice and had a long parseltongue conversation about human hatchlings and where they come from and how they get here and how special it was to have a brother or sister in your family.

"She asked what his name is," Harry said, when he and Iolanthe returned to the land of English-speakers.

"We haven't given him a name," Daphne said. "We just found out he is coming."

Harry and Iolanthe exchanged a couple of sentences.

"We're supposed to decide on a name," Harry said. He turned to Iolanthe and said in English, "Soon."

Harry favored James, as long as they were going to have a boy. His father James was his personal hero, of course. James Potter also had a nice rhythm to it. If his son went to Hogwarts, James Potter appeared on plaques in the trophy case. It might give the latest iteration some goals to shoot for.

Daphne pointed out that if a son of Harry Potter came to Hogwarts and saw his father's and grandfather's names on plaques in a trophy case, there was a chance he'd be overwhelmed and discouraged from trying. Harry, after all, the youngest house quidditch player in a century, had nearly declined the chance to become Gryffindor's seeker for that very reason.

"Okay, we'll hold that in abeyance," Harry said. "Have you thought of any middle names? Because I just had an idea, if you haven't."

"Gosh, Harry," Daphne said, "It sounds like you've got something on your mind. I wonder if you'd just like to let me know what it is and be done with all the dancing around the periphery?"

Harry felt his face warm slightly.

"That obvious?" he asked.

"Uh-huh," Daphne answered.

"Fine," Harry said. "You don't have any brothers. Astoria and Draco didn't use Greengrass when they had the chance with Scorpius, so I wondered if you'd like to use Greengrass for your son's middle name? Just to keep it alive, or put everyone on notice, if you wish."

"That is such a generous thought, Harry," Daphne said. "Let's ask Mother and Father, although I think that might be a formality."

The Davises who had been profoundly rude to Tracey altered forever some of her perceptions. Although they all got around to apologizing, one way or another, and assured her they loved her just as much as ever, and would love her baby the same, throughout her pregnancy she gravitated more and more to Harry and Daphne, where she'd never felt more appreciated and protected.

Daphne returned to Greengrass Manor for a short confinement before James Greengrass's birth. Tracey was there for James just as she had been for Iolanthe. Harry took James from the midwife and held him for introductions before handing him on to Tracey while Daphne and the midwife finished their business. Tracey had gotten to know the midwife when Iolanthe was born, and had become her patient, so she stayed on at Greengrass Manor, helping with James, almost until the commencement of her own labor, and gave birth to Zelda Daphne Davis in her own room at Fabio and Kendra's.

Daphne brought Periwinkle from Potter Manor to give the Greengrass elves some extra help. Just keeping up with the laundry for the two newborns would have been a full-time job for one person without house elf magic to call upon.

Daphne's lifelong relationship with Trix could have been the cause of some stress were Daphne not a master of household diplomacy. She divided up the duties of the elves into logical categories and made a point of bringing Periwinkle and Trix together for little planning sessions several times a day. Thriving under the extra responsibilities and attention, the elves went about their work smiling, to the point of occasionally complimenting one another on the great job they were doing.

Harry and Daphne had gotten used to Tracey and Zelda, so when they started to talk about reintegrating into London, the question of where Tracey would go arose.

"She's your cousin," Harry said as he rocked James one evening. "We said they were always welcome. We've got the room. You have to decide, though. Maybe the two of you should take a day at the Mill and work through it."

"Two women under one roof…" Daphne said.

"There's that," Harry agreed. "What if we were to put off returning to Grimmauld Place for a while, and stay at the Manor? It's new and bigger. Would Tracey be an asset? We've been able to juggle Iolanthe between us so far, but I don't think that is realistic with two, do you? It's not as convenient to work but we'd adjust."

"You're suggesting we all go to the Manor, and Tracey can manage Iolanthe, James and Zelda," Daphne said. "That would be a load."

"It would," Harry said, "But we do have the luxury of being able to coordinate our schedules, and Periwinkle has shown she can adapt. With some thought, we ought to be able to minimize the time Tracey has everything and everyone by herself. Tracey might even know another elf who could join us and take on something like the kitchen. One elf to do all the food-related things, and one to manage the rest of the house.

"There's also the flat," Harry said. "I could get our things out of there and we could get Tracey a more complete kitchen setup. There are two bedrooms. She'd be close to everything. We could handle their laundry, or, Kreacher and Periwinkle could, just do it along with ours. They could come over for dinner every night if they wanted."

"That's quite magnanimous, Harry," Daphne said.

"Somewhat selfish, too," Harry said. "It lets me put off making a decision about the flat while Tracey uses it."

A pattern of sorts did emerge, eventually. Harry and Daphne had jobs that required near-perpetual availability, although they were free to manage the routine aspects much more flexibly. That meant on non-crisis days they could stagger their hours to minimize the time they would both be gone from home. Tracey's mother fell in love the instant she saw Zelda. She would drop almost anything if Tracey needed an extra adult to help her manage the three youngsters.

Potter Manor had plenty of space and a nursery/pre-school environment gradually developed that accommodated Iolanthe, James and Zelda, as well as Scorpius and Rose Granger-Weasley. Adult carers were actually in some abundance once the children were pooled. Blaise even came, usually for half-days. He and Tracey treated one another with respect, and a bit of warmth. They'd worked out an understanding, between themselves. Nature, as far as anyone could discern, did not assert itself in Devon the way it had in Tobago. Tracey and Zelda did make use of the flat regularly, though, and largely managed to avoid presence overload so that everyone enjoyed being together when they did share housing.

One morning Astoria brought Scorpius to Potter Manor, planning to spend the day. She had her copy of The Odyssey with her, and when a minor young peoples' disagreement arose, she asked, "Who'd like to hear a story?"

Iolanthe and Scorpius would probably have been ambivalent were it not for Astoria's obvious enthusiasm.

Astoria sat down with Fitzgerald and a little impromptu editing and soon had Iolanthe and Scorpius sailing alongside Odysseus and dodging clashing rocks and fighting cyclops.

"Who'd like a story?" was soon an established waypoint in the children's day. Zelda and James didn't really grasp stories right away, but they liked taking bottles while they watched the older children sitting cross-legged and getting involved with story time. Fascinating as The Odyssey is, when read at proper toddler levels of difficulty, there was soon a need for additional material. Hermione was a huge hit when she brought The Tales of Beedle the Bard. Iolanthe was not a huge hit when she presented her snake identification book and asked for it to be the resource for story time.

Harry and Daphne still tried to reserve Wednesday afternoons. Daphne had taken Kendra's advice and received her guests in her study at #12. Her Wednesday afternoon 'at-homes' were very well-established. Country witches were known to plan their trips to London on other business so that they came to town on Wednesday and had thirty minutes or an hour to pay a call on Daphne. It wasn't always clear why. Sometimes a witch was seeking advice or a neutral opinion, but many callers just seemed to want to have a quiet talk over a cup of tea. Daphne didn't care. If one caller was clearly in distress over some issue, Daphne might try to guide the conversation to a point where the witch thought of an approach she hadn't seen or tried before. If another didn't come right out with it, Daphne sensed there might be something in the background that tea and conversation could soften. It didn't matter.

Before long the natural evolution of social arrangements settled into a Wednesday afternoon gathering at #12 of Tracey, Harry, Iolanthe, Zelda and James, often upstairs, spilling in and out of all the rooms along the central hallway. If the weather were favorable, the venue would be the garden behind the townhouse. Zelda and James started learning to walk by pulling themselves up on the venerable red brick beds when they began toddling, just as Iolanthe had.

"What is going on?" Daphne asked one Wednesday as she stepped down onto the bricks from the second drawing room. She had just said good-bye to some callers. She had some documentation from work that needed updating, but the sound of children's voices won out.

"Mum!" Iolanthe called, trotting over.

James initially seemed to think mealtime had come early, but he settled for a hug.

"Who wants something to drink?" Harry asked. Everyone did. Harry called for Kreacher.

"Kreacher, could we have a pitcher of your approved iced tea, and the appropriate containers for everyone?" Harry asked.

Kreacher had concocted a decaffeinated tea with a little honey and orange blossom essence that, served cold, appealed to the entire family. Healer Daphne had blessed the recipe, which garnered the appellation 'approved.'

When Kreacher had delivered the tea and the proper numbers of cups with covers, cups with straws, and tumblers, everyone took a seat. James went through his iced tea faster than any of the others. Zelda was taking her time. James, who had just begun experimenting with his first words beyond Mum and Dad, apparently thought Zelda wasn't going fast enough, so he looked at her cup and said " _Accio_!"

When he got control of Zelda's cup, he laughed, genuinely delighted at his own cleverness.

Zelda looked to be on the verge of a volcanic reaction, but she squinted at James and said, in a chillingly calm whisper, " _accio_."

The cup went flying back to Zelda. The adults got their wits about them in time to stop further exchanges, popped the covers from the cups and gave everyone a second round of approved tea.

Harry looked around when all were back in their seats.

"Hogwarts letters. Ten years from next July," he said.

"I guess so," Tracey said, "But how did they learn to do it in the first place?"

Harry and Daphne shook their heads, to say they didn't know.

"Mum does it," Iolanthe said, showing off her recently-acquired command of complete English sentences.

"Ah, MUM does it, does she?" Harry asked, latent interrogator skills suddenly awakening. "How about you? Can you summon something with an _accio_ charm?"

Iolanthe looked at her cup, then at Daphne, while Tracey tried to suppress the guffaw that was fighting to get out.

"Go ahead, Iolanthe, just tell Dad the truth," Daphne said.

"I _can_ , but Mum said no," Iolanthe said. "Until I'm older."

"That is very impressive, Iolanthe," Harry said. "We are very proud of you."

" _Slytherin_ ," Daphne mouthed, silently, finishing off with a little sneer at the end.

" _Ravenclaw_ ," Harry mouthed in return, tapping his finger twice against his temple.

"Now that's not funny, Harry," Tracey said, unable to let such heresy pass unchallenged.

Harry and Daphne had suspended their treks to the Black estate while James and Zelda were tiny, but they'd gotten a birthday party organized for Scorpius at the end of June. They invited all the Black cousins they'd managed to identify in Britain and Ireland and got a fair response. Harry reminded everyone to charge their eleven-year-olds' initial Hogwarts outfits and to make sure the entering students knew how to make use of the Black owls.

Harry, Daphne, Iolanthe and Tracey took James and Zelda to meet the family portraits. Phineas Nigellus declared Zelda to be a fabulous addition, and Tracey had to admit she didn't know of a confirmed Black ancestral connection. The late headmaster advised Harry, with appropriate bluster, to act like a proper clan chief and declare Zelda a member, immediately. Harry stood between Tracey and Daphne, holding Zelda, and did so, taking Tracey in for good measure. Then he introduced Zelda and James to the portraits as the youngest, and second youngest Blacks.

Harry found Teddy Lupin out in the barely-surviving garden, strolling slowly through the beds, stopping to look, occasionally kneeling down to examine something, then going on.

"Do they have any potential? The plots, I mean," Harry asked. "No one has done anything with them, at least not seriously, for several years. What gardening time Daphne and I have had we've spent on the new place or the little garden at #12."

"The perennials are trying, but I think Professor Longbottom would recommend some crop rotation and turning manure into the soil, then planting. There is still time if you get to work this week," Teddy said.

"I heard you were something of an herbology phenomenon, Teddy," Harry said.

"Umh?" Teddy asked, clearly embarrassed.

"Oh, word gets around," Harry said. "Don't make me give away my sources. Tell you what. If you want to get a quill and some parchment, sketch a plan, and I'll see if I can get everything organized by next weekend and I'll ask your gran if you can come over and we'll put in a garden. Better late than never. You can find what you need in that desk in the little office next to the salon."

Teddy took off for the house.

Harry and Teddy returned the following Saturday and got to work. Harry had negotiated the assistance of two of the garden elves who helped Fabio, so the elves' magic made short work of the tedious bits such as hauling and spading. Harry noticed Victoire's braided straw necklace was still appearing and disappearing under Teddy's shirt.

"Is that thing charmed?" Harry asked, indicating the bit of rock, or fossil, braided into the straw thong. "You've had it for several years."

"I don't know," Teddy answered. "I asked Victoire once, and she didn't want to answer. I dropped it and didn't ask again. I think it must be because she just braided it out of dry straw, and that shouldn't last."

"Remarkable," Harry said.

"Victoire?" Teddy asked, a little eagerness in his voice.

"Oh, certainly, but I meant the charmed neck thing," Harry said. "You're still friends, I take it."

"Yeah," Teddy said. "I have other friends."

He stuck a garden fork he'd been using into the soil and propped a foot on it.

"They aren't like Victoire."

Harry let Teddy ponder his own comment for a bit.

"Any idea why?" Harry asked.

"Victoire is different, from everyone else," Teddy said. He looked away from Harry, from the garden, from the house, out into some indeterminate distance. "She makes everything different, just by being there."

"You're very lucky," Harry said, "Just knowing someone like that. It's quite an experience. It's not a distraction from your studies, is it? Having her for a friend?"

"No," Teddy said, then he laughed, "Most of the time, no."

"That's good," Harry said. "We all have to learn to manage our priorities. Everyone. I did, Daphne did. Your mother was an auror, she certainly did. Do you and Victoire have common interests? That gives you something to talk about."

"Do you and Daphne have common interests?" Teddy asked. "I mean she's a healer, and you're… _not_. I mean…"

"It's alright, you didn't say anything wrong," Harry said. "It's true, I was an auror, and then I got hurt and had to do something different. What have you heard about me?"

Teddy didn't say anything.

"It's okay, if you get into an area I can't talk about I'll just say so and we'll talk about something else," said Harry. "Ask me anything you want."

"Some of the people at school say you're some kind of secret agent," Teddy said.

"Well there you go, it's good we had this conversation," Harry said. "I'm an administrator. A boss, you could say, like the Headmistress. Some things the minister needs to know aren't readily available at the library, so, some people specialize in that kind of research. In my job, those people make reports that go through me to the minister. It just works a lot better if everyone doesn't go around talking about it. If anyone gets pushy with you, you're authorized to say I'm a supervisor, and if I were a secret agent, how would you know?"

"That's pretty logical," Teddy said.

"It is, when you think about it," agreed Harry. "Daphne and I do have common interests, as it turns out. We're both interested in you, the friends we've had pretty much forever, like Tracey and Ron and Hermione, and the children, and all of these houses. I'm interested in the kind of work she does as a professional, although it's obvious I don't have the scholarly abilities to get anywhere close to her level of qualifications."

"Sports?" Teddy asked.

"Uh, no," Harry answered. "That is not a common interest."

"Victoire will watch quidditch but she really isn't a fan," Teddy said. "She'll talk about plants, but I don't know if she likes working with them all that much."

"Just an observation," said Harry. "If you can identify a subject you both like, you can sit and talk about it for a good long time, read the same books about it and talk about those, that sort of thing. You do like talking to her?"

"Sure, we've talked about a lot of things," Teddy said. "What we want to do after we're finished with school. Music…"

Teddy's voice drifted off.

"It sounds like you're both serious thinkers, Teddy. Have you ever talked to Fabio Greengrass? My father-in-law? You met him at our wedding," Harry asked. "He buys from magical growers, then he sells to apothecaries, potion-makers, that kind of thing. He's a master gardener himself."

"Professor Longbottom mentions him in lectures," Teddy said. "I didn't talk to him all that much at the wedding."

"If you'd like, you can come with the rest of us when we go to visit," said Harry. "We'll get you a guided tour. You've got an affinity for this. It could be a career field, if you pursue it. At the very least gardening is something people can do for their whole lives."

They worked on in silence, pulling up last year's stalks, which were turned back under the soil by the elves, then planting according to Teddy's plan.

Teddy hadn't had much to say while they'd worked their way through a bed given over to herbs.

"Harry?" he began.

"Uh-huh," said Harry.

"Are you mad for Daphne?"

"You could say that, I suppose," Harry said. "She makes me very happy. Such a good mother to the children, as I'm sure you've noticed. She's fun to be around."

"I'm a bit mad for Victoire," Teddy said. "No one else looks at me or talks to me like she does."

"That's kind of how it starts," Harry said. "You're very lucky to have felt that. Some people go their whole lives and they never do. Of course, you and Victoire are really young. Your feelings and your perceptions, how you view things, are all subject to change as you grow and have new experiences on your way to maturity. Same for Victoire. Here's a rule I heard once: Don't be reckless with other people's hearts. We can all start to feel affection and then something happens to change that. Be honest, if it happens to you. Then you can still respect one another, and yourself."

Teddy went silent for a while longer, laying out a row and dropping lavender seeds.

"Like you and Ginny?" he asked, with something like a release of pressure.

"I'm not sure what you're asking, Teddy," said Harry. "It's well-known Ginny and I dated for some time. You could say we gave it a chance, more than one chance. We weren't right for one another. We both tried to be realistic and to avoid hurting the other. Now we're both happy with the people we're with. I respect Ginny and Millicent. They are both big admirers of Daphne. Is that what you mean?"

"Pretty much," said Teddy.

"Sometimes, though, a person will develop feelings in third or fourth year and it all works, eventually. Those people are extremely lucky. It's not unheard-of though, so why shouldn't it be you?" Harry asked. "Just remember, when you're around Victoire, don't get ahead of yourselves. You both have a lot of learning and new experiences ahead of you. Find at least one subject you both like reading and talking about before you start thinking about proposing. A couple is a social group. We wouldn't join a club or a team if we didn't like the people and had nothing in common with them. The same principle applies. Look for that subject you both like before you do anything else."

Teddy laid out a row in a new bed and got busy using a hoe to make a furrow.

"Do you think I could just ask Victoire what she wants to talk about?" Teddy asked.

"You could," Harry said. "I wouldn't say that's wrong, but it looks to me like the two of you have developed some rapport already. My guess would be Victoire is already telling you what her interests are when you two talk. Try listening carefully, then, if she expresses an interest in something, ask a follow-up question. It could open up a conversation. My information is the ladies really like it if gentlemen pay attention to what they say."

Teddy worked on his furrow, got it the way he wanted it, and started dropping seeds in. When he got to the end of his row, he used the hoe to pull soil over the furrow from the sides, then lightly tamped the soil down.

"She likes wands," Teddy said. "Wands always come up."

Harry thought that over.

"Good observation," he said. "To talk about wands a little more, ask a question related to wands. You could ask if her Uncle Ron is working with Ollivander. He was at one point. Maybe you knew that?"

"Uh-huh," Teddy said. "What did you and Daphne start talking about?"

"All the way back to the beginning?" Harry asked. He took a moment to stop and consider. "Raffles. Raffles, and, I think, Chelsea. Daphne isn't particularly fond of Chelsea, though."

Teddy finished planting the bed they were working on and Harry called a halt.

"Enough for today," he said. "Teddy, I'll need suggestions from you for some late varieties for those beds over there. Something that will make it to late fall if the frost holds off. Cabbages, ornamentals, anything as long as it likes it when the weather gets cool."

Harry thanked the elves for their help and told them they could get back to Greengrass Manor. He and Teddy gathered up the tools and put them in the garden shed.

"They're all supposed to be at the new place," Harry said. "Let's go check and see if anyone has made us something to eat."

They all were at the new place, including Fabio and Kendra as well as Andromeda. Harry and Teddy cast _purgio_ before going inside to wash up. _Purgio_ isn't a perfect charm, but it gets a man presentable enough to sit down to a sandwich.

"Teddy put in a day's work," Harry told the table, thoroughly embarrassing his godson in the process.

"Don't mind him, Teddy," Daphne said. "Thank-you for everything you did, though."

Daphne reached over and gave Teddy's hand a squeeze, which he clearly didn't mind one bit.

"What did you plant, Teddy?" Fabio asked. Teddy told him, bed by bed. Clearly, his focus on the garden hadn't been affected by all of his and Harry's jawboning. Harry thought that was pretty impressive.

Fabio took over, chatting Teddy up, exchanging all kinds of information on this or that variety. Teddy held his own. Harry thought he'd be able to follow one of Fabio and Neville's master gardener conversations.

"Well, Teddy," Andromeda said when they'd finished their sandwiches.

"I know," Teddy replied, yawning. "Long day."

Iolanthe spotted the movement toward the door and dropped into the group with Teddy, Andromeda, Harry and Daphne. They walked through some planted areas on the way to the green. Although they'd saved it for the woodlanders' revels, the part of the green outside the perimeter of the charms that protected the house made the most convenient point for disapparating. No one noticed Iolanthe pause and bend over one of the flower beds.

"Teddy," Iolanthe said when everyone got to the reveling ground. Teddy stopped and looked down at Iolanthe, who was holding out her hand, upon which coiled one of the little snakes that lived in the planted beds.

"Oh," Teddy said, kneeling down. "That is a good-looking snake."

"He says come back soon," Iolanthe reported.


	20. Chapter 20

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Twenty

The Potters' Domestic Arrangements Are Scrutinized by People for Whom It Is None of Their Business; Signs and Portents

Harry and Daphne hadn't really given it a lot of thought, but by Iolanthe's fifth birthday, and subsequent fifth Christmas, they had become the hub of an extended family that comprised Iolanthe, James Greengrass Potter, Tracey, Zelda, Draco, Astoria and Scorpius, Ron, Hermione and Rose, Ginny, Millicent, Blaise, Teddy and Andromeda.

Most weeks of the year saw some activity that brought most or all of their group to Potter Manor. Harry and Daphne had demanding jobs, but they became proficient in managing their time so that on most days the children had at least one parent at home. One all-family meal per day was a rule, and one they seldom broke. Tracey and Zelda Davis were fully integrated into the Potters. Harry and Daphne instinctively took them into consideration when making plans for travel, vacations, or large at-home events

They still hosted Black Christmas at the Black estate in Cornwall during the first week of December. Every Black cousin they could contact would get an invitation. Good behavior was expected, and in many cases, it was rendered. Anyone aware of recent magical history would disbelieve that statement. Blacks had married into so many other houses they were represented across the ideological and political spectra. Andromeda Black Tonks was illustrative. She had been removed from the Black tapestry for marrying the muggle-born wizard Ted Tonks. Her sister Bellatrix had killed her nephew, Sirius, and her sister Narcissa had married the Death Eater Lucius Malfoy. Her grandson, Teddy Lupin, was the godson of Harry Potter, who had sent Lucius to Azkaban at one point, and was now Lord Black and hosted the Black Christmas observance simply because he took his head-of-house duties seriously and thought all the Blacks ought to be able to get together for a firewhiskey and socialize.

Harry wasn't always certain he knew what he was doing, or why. He admitted, on more than one occasion, that it was complicated. When frictions developed, as sometimes happened, Daphne and Tracey were unusually skilled at calming everyone down. Harry saw witches and wizards in high spirits having a good time, and as long as no one got hurt, or set too poor an example for the children, it was all healthy fun.

Scorpius' fifth birthday provided the occasion for the summer Black event, the Black Picnic. Ever since his first birthday, the Blacks had gathered at the end of June for a picnic at the Black estate, with lots of local fish, early summer garden salads, pumpkin juice, butter beer, and, for those who indulged, a bit of firewhiskey. The children all received tissue paper crowns and the cutest little toy wands, which were, of course, non-functioning, in consideration of the fact that bits of kid magic were always manifesting without warning. There was no point in tempting fate with an estate full of magical children running around.

The Potters, including Tracey and Zelda, had begun spending the night before any all-Black event at the estate, in order to rise early and prepare for visitors.

"Iolanthe," Harry said, after he'd swallowed his last spoonful of porridge. "As soon as you're finished?"

"Indeed. Shall we go, Father?"

Iolanthe had begun modeling herself on Daphne, including her manner of speaking. Daphne said things like, "Indeed," to answer questions in the affirmative, so Iolanthe did as well. Daphne called Fabio "Father," so Iolanthe Astoria, age five and one-half, did the same for Harry.

The first task of the morning was a stroll around the grounds to seek out snakes. Iolanthe was highly influential among the snakes, and advised all the little ones who inhabited the garden beds, hedgerows and stone walls that there would be a large family event commencing soon, and they would be wise to go to ground. Each year Daphne charged Iolanthe explicitly to see that the adders cleared out until the Black Picnic was concluded. Daphne didn't worry about the little snakes' safety the way Iolanthe did. She simply did not want to be treating snake bites.

Harry and Iolanthe switched to parseltongue on their snake-clearing walks. It was easier than switching back and forth with English, since they had to speak parseltongue with any snakes they encountered.

"It's time to think like a snake," Iolanthe said. Her consonants softened, her S's stretched on and on, and she swung her head side to side as they crisscrossed the grounds.

"We're having a little party," Iolanthe would say. "Get under something unless you want the children picking you up and passing you around."

"Very considerate," Harry said.

"Father," Iolanthe went on, "What do you think of Slytherin House?"

"Your mother was in Slytherin," Harry said. That did not answer the question, a fact noted by Iolanthe. "Tracey, Draco, Astoria, Blaise, Millicent. All Slytherins."

"Did you have problems with the students in Slytherin?" Iolanthe asked, a little more specific this time.

"That was all Hogwarts stuff," Harry said. "Teenagers acting out. At least, that is what I think your mother would say. She is an expert. Have you had this conversation with her?"

"She can't speak parseltongue," Iolanthe answered, a bit dismissive. Harry considered Iolanthe's response. Maybe there was a little attitude showing. That was fine, for now. Harry was a consumer of information. He took bits of it from here and there and tried to make a coherent story of the bits.

"Iolanthe, you're going to be six in December," Harry said. "What can I do to free you, for the next five years, from worry about Slytherin House, or whatever house you end up in?"

Besides speaking parseltongue from birth, Iolanthe had thrown off enough accidental magic to make an acceptance letter from Hogwarts a foregone conclusion.

"I'll be in Slytherin," Iolanthe stated, quite definitively. "We both expect that. Don't we, Father?"

Harry didn't want to, but he had to admit she was right.

"Yes," he said, "But just because we both expect it doesn't make it an ironclad, guaranteed, certainty."

"I'm not worried," she said.

Iolanthe spotted a little patch of black under some leaves.

"All right, you there," she called out, dropping into a squat. "Show yourself."

An adder head looked out from the bed.

"Madame?" the snake said. "And would this be your Lordship? Oh, what a day! The two of you coming to call. How can I help you on this blessed day?"

"We wanted you to know there will be a large number of humans traipsing about and stepping on things with their human feet," Iolanthe said. "You know how they can be. With regard to snakes, that is."

"Sadly, I do," said the adder. "So I take it you would like for me to take myself away from your revels?"

"Could you, Brother?" Harry asked. "Just for the day? They'll all be gone by tomorrow and things will be back to normal. Thank you for all your work protecting the garden. We've had minimal evidence of rodent damage this summer."

"Madame," said the adder, "It will be my pleasure, and an honor, to comply with your wishes. The stone wall is usually adequate, unless you think otherwise…?"

"The stone wall it is," said Iolanthe. "Father will advise the guests an adder was seen nearby, so they should stay away."

The adder made a sound that could have been a snake laugh.

"So droll," the adder said, taking its leave.

Iolanthe turned her attention back to Harry.

"I'm not worried," she repeated. "I don't want you to worry."

"Oh-h-h," Harry said. "I see what you're getting at. I won't worry. You and I will know each other very well by the time you put the sorting hat on your head. You'll either like me, or you won't. Slytherin will have nothing to say about it. Besides, Madame Walburga will be ecstatic if you're sorted into Slytherin. Her portrait outside the young witches' dormitory will be able to keep an eye on you."

Iolanthe pondered Harry's response while she looked for more snakes.

"This is probably as far as we need to go this way," she said. Iolanthe led Harry toward a row of hedges that marked what they expected to be the limits of the picnicking grounds.

"Will we still talk like this when I'm in Slytherin?" Iolanthe asked. Harry heard the 'when' where he would rather have heard 'if.'

"Of course, if you want to," Harry said. "By that time you'll be on your way to becoming a skilled witch, and an independent woman. You'll have things you want to talk to me about, and things you won't. That is normal. That's life. The important thing is for you to be happy in your house, with whatever friends you choose, so that you can focus on becoming the best witch you can be. That is all I want for you. You and I will work everything else out between us, or with your mother's help."

Iolanthe kept spotting little snakes, and advising them to make their snake selves scarce for the next twenty-four hours. She led Harry on a roundabout route with the house at the center. When they completed one circuit she cut across the lawn on an angle to their first course and did another round, inside the first.

"Slytherin has a snake on its shield," Iolanthe said.

"Its arms," Harry said. "Or coat-of-arms. The snake is the symbol for Slytherin. The lion for Gryffindor, the eagle for Ravenclaw and the badger for Hufflepuff."

"Mother does not get snakes," Iolanthe said. "Slytherins should like snakes."

Harry walked along, looking for snake signs.

"I expect," Harry mused, "If a lion popped over that wall, I would be scared to death."

"Mm-mm. Nope, you wouldn't," said Iolanthe. "You would get between me and the lion and draw your wand."

"You, young snake. I see you," Iolanthe said in parseltongue, causing the snake to turn on itself and raise its head.

"Madame, are you her?" said the snake.

"My name is Iolanthe, if that is what you mean," said Iolanthe. "There will be dozens of humans arriving soon, so please take yourself to the stone wall and stay out of sight. It will be a very good day for a nap."

"Madame, I will, and thank you for the warning," the snake said. "Good day to you, milord."

"Good day," Harry answered.

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked. "If I did draw my wand on a lion I could still be frightened. He's the King of Beasts."

Iolanthe strolled along, eyes on the ground, looking for the bit of sunshine that reflected _just so_ when it hit a snake scale.

"Father," she sighed. "Dragons are reptiles. Snakes are reptiles. The snakes know about you. They told me what you have done. You subdue dragons. Lions are not dragons."

"Iolanthe," Harry said, a little concern coming through. "Don't believe everything you hear. The snakes have a different perspective. They're down on the ground, looking up at everything, aren't they? Of course, they'll see things from their angle, just like we see things from ours. Besides, a thirteen-year-old doesn't subdue dragons. A thirteen-year-old who encounters a dragon and doesn't end up charred has simply gotten lucky. There was an entire conspiracy at work getting me past that task, so I could be delivered to my enemy, who meant to kill me.

"I think I'll stop there," Harry said, now feeling more than a bit agitated. "We'll have a long talk about everything in a few years, but you don't need to be hearing about all of my history now, at your age. It's not very pleasant."

"I know your history," Iolanthe said. "You've been sliced and diced."

She sounded very satisfied with herself for using the metaphor properly in parseltongue.

"What do you know about any of that?" Harry asked, barely keeping himself from laughing.

"Mother had me in her tummy when you went out on the street and got yourself sliced and diced," Iolanthe began in an authoritative tone. "Tracey told me. Then I asked Mother if it was true, and she turned red and I thought she was going to cry but she said Yes, but I wasn't to worry about it because she scolded you at the time and you would not be doing it again."

"Exactly!" Harry managed to get out, before the laughter took him over. "Your mother is so smart. She knows what is best for all of us, all the time. That is why we always listen to her."

When Iolanthe was satisfied they had done a thorough early warning to the snake community and evacuated them to safe haven, she turned for the house.

"Back to English," she said in parseltongue, her tone containing notes of disappointment, regret and anticipation of tedium. "Practical, but lacking in subtlety."

"Oh, be patient, Iolanthe," Harry said. "Subtlety is possible in English, if we work at it."

The Black Picnic picked up momentum from their arrival back at the house. Blacks apparated in, or used the floo network. Two of the larger families came by port key, the logistics being much less complicated.

Kreacher, Periwinkle and Winky had all contributed dishes to the picnic. They continually whisked empty platters and bowls from the long, white-draped buffet table, returning with fresh salads, fruit bowls and filled platters. Harry had established a relationship with several of the local fishermen and women, so fish, fried, grilled and steamed, dominated the entrée offerings.

Some surprisingly old relatives had come for the picnic. Harry, Iolanthe and Teddy became an informal support group, finding them shady spots and making sure they had chairs that remained stable when sat upon, bringing them plates of food and keeping them in butterbeer and mineral water. One or two liked a little firewhiskey in their water. Harry asked if their healer would approve, and was told somewhat convincingly that they had been fully cleared, within reason.

Andromeda and Narcissa sat together on an ancient marble bench. Draco brought them cushions and Teddy kept their drinks fresh and rotated mixed fruit plates in and out. They entertained a steady parade of cousins, both close and distant. Everyone knew about the two of them, and their late sister Bellatrix. The reconciliation had been a surprise at the time. After six years, wizarding Britain had gotten used to it, but that didn't make it any less remarkable. The pair had assumed something like a mantle, symbolic of the possible reestablishment of equilibrium after the chaotic years, if individuals could just liberate themselves from old ideas.

Draco brought a comfortable chair over to the bench, and Astoria took up a station at Narcissa's elbow.

"How do you feel?" Narcissa asked.

"Surprisingly good, for all the excitement hereabouts," Astoria said. "So I'll sit down now in hopes of making it through the day. Draco, can you see Scorpius?"

"He's right over there," Draco said. "I'll go keep an eye on him. Can we bring you anything?"

"A glass of pumpkin juice would be nice," Astoria said.

As Draco left to shadow Scorpius Astoria turned her attention to Andromeda and Narcissa's latest callers. Everyone asked how Astoria was feeling, studiously avoiding saying 'curse' at any time. Daphne came by and held hands for a bit, discreetly appraising Astoria's color, alertness and posture. James and Zelda came for hugs and kisses, bringing flowers they'd picked in the garden.

Teddy had found some like-minded gardeners and was hosting his own tour. Harry was watching from a shady spot when Tracey walked up.

"You've done so well with Teddy, Harry," Tracey said. "He could have been lost, and look at him now. He's got them all rounded up and paying attention. Remarkable."

"Andromeda gets the credit," Harry said. "She got him started in Ted's garden at her place. I think she had him out there when he was three or four. He seems to have a natural affinity for growing things of course. There's no substitute for that."

"He and Victoire are…" Tracey said, waiting for Harry to finish her sentence.

"Still the same, so far," Harry said. "It's beginning to look like there is something very deep between them."

"Good luck with that," Tracey said, smiling.

"It happens," Harry said. James and Zelda came up and handed them each a bouquet, then ran off at the first 'Thank-you.'

Daphne wandered over and linked her arm through Tracey's.

"Great party, Lord Potter-Black," she said.

"All credit to the party planners," Harry said. "Tell them for me if you see them."

The day went on. The oldest attendees tired first, and their younger relatives brought them by to say thanks and good-bye before leaving, followed by the families with young children. Harry and Daphne kept Scorpius with them so he'd be sure and get lots of extra birthday wishes. Time for cleanup arrived much too soon. Daphne called for Trix and the four elves made short work of it. Everyone even deferred to Periwinkle who was, after all THE house elf at the Black estate.

"Impressive," Harry said, watching the elves' progress. "So harmonious."

"Mm-hm," Daphne agreed.

"Did you do that?" Harry asked.

"Oh, a little positive reinforcement goes a long way," was all Daphne would say.

Harry, Daphne and Tracey planned to leave for Potter Manor as soon as the elves had restored order, so they collected the children and walked through the house. They spoke to all of the portraits, although some were so tired by this point they'd gone non-responsive. Phineas Nigellus was definitely not one of those.

"Wonderful event, my boy, all those people and not a single fatality!" the late headmaster enthused. "And ladies, I'm sure you get credit for the menu and the favors and all the planning, correct? Wonderful party. So many branches here. I wish we'd done this last century."

An ancient Black witch in the portrait next to Phineas Nigellus said something they couldn't make out.

"I have been told I must mean century before last," he said. "I stand corrected."

"Very good sir," Harry said. "We'll be off now. Regards to Dumbledore, if the two of you are awake at the same time."

"Come back soon, and bring your two…" Phineas Nigellus said, then, "uh, children, bring the children."

Harry didn't know what to think of the stumbling about, attributing it to advanced age, so he just waved and confirmed: "At the earliest opportunity."

Tracey and Daphne looked at each other. Harry didn't see, but Tracey gave Daphne a quick little grin, and Daphne shook her head.

House secured, elves dispatched, the Potters and Davises returned to Potter Manor. Periwinkle had been in charge of leftovers, of which there were plenty, but no one thought they were quite ready for anything to eat. The late afternoon sun was past its peak intensity and beginning to paint the valley of the Dart in shadows. Harry found himself a tumbler for some mineral water and took up a station supervising the children, who had migrated to the green for a session of aimless racing about.

"Lord Potter-Black," Daphne said, walking up and standing beside him.

"My lady," Harry returned. He reached down and brought her hand up to his lips. "Isn't this all just something?"

"I know," said Daphne. "Country bumpkin witch, saved from spinsterhood…"

"Castoff orphan civil servant takes refuge in obsessive careerism…" Harry responded. "Thank-you, Raffles."

Daphne laughed like she wouldn't be able to stop.

"Raffles," Daphne said. "Delivered you to my clutches, did he?"

"Raffles saved me from a life of empty striving. You could have simplified everything by inviting me over for a swim, just two classmates having a small, informal reunion, Greengrass Lake-style. I'm kind of stuck right there in the gazebo, emotionally," Harry teased. He was more than semi-serious, though. It was one of his few memories of a moment of unalloyed joy.

"Uh-huh," Daphne said, pulling harder on Harry's arm. "Now, did you get anything from Phineas Nigellus' odd comment as we were leaving?"

"That business about coming back and bringing the children?" Harry asked. "No. I didn't know just what he was getting at."

"Please don't take offense, Harry," Daphne began, "But I think Phineas Nigellus, a very old-time magical grandee if there ever was one, was referencing something that has pretty much gone out of fashion in the modern era. The old noble wizards, some of them, used to take multiple wives and concubines. Quite openly in some cases. Strings of them, according to the stories. That's why there are these magical families with branches all over the place. The more responsible ones would recognize the children, although there wasn't any requirement they do so.

"I'd started to hear little rumblings. I believe Phineas Nigellus was on the verge of telling you to come back and bring the two wives, which he changed to children in mid-stream," Daphne finished.

"You mean you, and Tracey," stated Harry. "Daphne, I never…"

"Oh, Harry, stop," Daphne said. "I'm not casting aspersions. The portraits are just a little less guarded than some of our contemporaries. You're a grandee and to some it looks like you're keeping company with two of your classmates."

Harry looked down, then he looked up.

"Merlin, Daphne!" he said, feeling a mix of confusion and consternation. "She's your first cousin. She was in a spot. At the time, it didn't look like anyone from the Davis's would help her out. We stepped up, and Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass, and sorted it. So now she's part of…of…"

By now Daphne was in full laughter-induced immobilization.

"Stop…" she managed to get out, so Harry stopped. "We're a witch and a wizard, not Puritans."

"I know about your deal, the one with Tracey," Harry said. "I've observed it, strictly, since the beginning."

"Oh, you know about an alleged deal?" Daphne said, more than a little curious. "Please continue, Lord Potter-Black, Order of Merlin."

She was having much too much fun but somehow it was all escaping Harry, focused as he was on grandees (of which he, apparently, was one) and strings of wives, concubines, and who knew what else.

"The night of our first St. Mungo's Ball, Tracey told me, if you ever dumped me, the first owl I would get would be from her. Not to worry, though, because you two never poach from the other. This is according to a pact you negotiated at the age of fourteen."

Harry stopped there and looked at Daphne.

"Gosh, that's the synopsized version, but surprisingly accurate," Daphne said.

"There's more?" Harry asked.

"Oh, the usual caveats and codicils, terrible spells to be suffered with immediate effect if either party breaks faith, et cetera," Daphne finished.

"Very dramatic," said Harry.

"Ah, well, two fourteen-year-old witches negotiating over open nail polish bottles, of course it was dramatic. That's the rule," Daphne explained.

"I'll take your word for it," Harry said. "What are we going to do?"

"We don't have to do anything," Daphne said. "We aren't breaking any laws. I think I would know if there were anything untoward happening. Tracey is as close to me as Astoria. Nothing stays secret for long.

"I don't know if you've noticed, Harry, but Tracey could be very vulnerable if it weren't for us," Daphne went on. "Without a career, she and Zelda could be in a real spot. You've solved her housing issues and Blaise supports Zelda, but Tracey has a very modest income from some small inheritances. Your generosity keeps her from knocking on her parents' door, or Fabio and Kendra's, babe in arms…"

"Please," Harry asked, rubbing his brow. "It sounds like charity. It's the right thing to do. I don't want anything from Tracey. She may be giving us more than we're giving her."

"Harry," Daphne said, with a little emphasis to move his train of thought to another track, "That is my point. Tracey and Zelda are family, living under our roof, taking their meals, going about on outings with us. We all get along and all the children have this loving circle around them, day and night. We're the beneficiaries of all that.

"The old magical ways are mostly gone, but not entirely, and certainly not in memory. No one will condemn you. Be aware some observers will put what they see in that context, just like Phineas Nigellus did. People are making assumptions. Whether you take offense, or let that get to you or not is wholly up to you."

Harry looked out over the valley. The last of the sun was reflecting back from the Dart, just bits and pieces here and there.

"What's this about grandees?" he asked. "I thought grandees were Spanish."

"True," Daphne said. "It's not formal in Britain like it is in Spain. That makes it wizard slang, really. There aren't any established rules. A man gets to be a grandee when he emerges from the pack. Accomplishments in some field. A little wealth helps. Siring a line of witches and wizards by a desirable mate. It's a consensus thing. Unbeknownst to you, one day you woke up a grandee."

Harry pondered the Dart some more.

"Never heard of it. Not even in the common room. Grandees in Britain?" he said.

"Oh, Lord Potter-Black," Daphne summed up, "You were in the wrong common room all along. You were born to be a grandee. If you'd been in Slytherin you would have benefited from my guidance."

Daphne turned and faced Harry. They weren't very far apart.

"Are we going to collect these children and get them inside?" she asked, a question that seemed to have embedded gradations of meaning.

Harry woke early the next day and went out onto the patio with a cup of fresh coffee to enjoy a midsummer's early morning. He'd put the whole Tracey-as-concubine and himself-as-grandee business out of his mind. Somehow, through one of those mysterious mental processes that keep humans interesting, he'd gained a new perspective overnight.

Daphne joined him on the patio, wearing her nightgown and the crimson and gold bathrobe from his bedroom at Greengrass Manor. Harry started at the flagstones and took in Daphne's bare feet with the terra cotta polish on her toenails, the nightgown out just a few inches from the bottom of the bathrobe, her hands, the nails done in the same terra cotta shade, her clean, freshly-washed face, and the platinum hair pulled back, coiled on the crown of her head, the coil held in place with a pair of chopsticks. Daphne placed her coffee cup on the table next to Harry's, yawned, raised her hands above her head, and indulged in a long, satisfying stretch.

Harry watched the whole sequence. Daphne noticed, and blessed him with a smile.

"What?" she asked, although she probably knew.

"I might as well go back to bed and write this day off," Harry said. "Absolutely nothing that happens after this point…"

He let the sentence trail off, which is to say, finish itself in Daphne's mind.

Harry was rewarded for his candid remarks with a long kiss that finished with Daphne pulling away slightly, temporarily taking his lower lip with her, until she let it go.

"Harry Potter," Daphne said. She rested her chin on top of his head. A pair of deer slowly made their way across a field on the slope below them.

Harry had gone near-total fugue by the time Daphne pulled out her chair and sat down next to him at the table.

"Great Black Picnic yesterday," Harry said. "Thank-you for everything."

"Wasn't that fun?" Daphne asked. "I remember a few times, before I started at Hogwarts, when Mother had friends at the house, and she'd serve tea and she and her guests would talk about this and that. House parties and country weekends figured in those wonderful stories about the days before Voldemort ruined everything, the first time. Then I went to Hogwarts, and right there sat Harry Potter, on the stool, with the sorting hat on his head, and all the death and destruction suddenly seemed real. They'd had childhoods, and fun, and went to school and made friends. Then…for us…the other. When I looked at you on that stool something like a thunderclap of doom went off inside me.

"I knew about your parents, of course. Even though he wasn't back just then, there was that element of unfinished Voldemort business. No one had found a body. Don't think I'm discounting your experience, Harry, or equating mine with yours. That cloud did hang over everything, though. The magical adults did the best they could, but there weren't a lot of country weekends or big all-family picnics. Everything and everyone seemed to have that fracture line running through it, and them.

"So here we are this morning. I'm sitting with the grandee who fixed things. Who funded my dream house. Who lets me plan big all-family picnics at our estate in Cornwall."

"Well, sorry," Daphne said. "Didn't mean to be maudlin, or bring up unpleasant memories."

"That's okay," Harry said. "Would you tell me if I'm getting therapy, kind of surreptitiously? You do such wonders for my emotional state."

"Harry, you know that would be unethical," Daphne said, employing a non-answer to move the discussion along.

"I've been thinking about our conversation from yesterday, over there," he nodded his head in the direction of the green. "It might not be a bad thing, what you were describing. In my job, I mean. If the people my department is interested in see a kind of dissipated grandee-type when they look at me, they might be careless when they oughtn't be. So, thanks for telling me about all those things."

Daphne looked at Harry over the rim of her cup.

"I don't see dissipated," Daphne said. "I see deep reserves of native intelligence, a natural learner, and the ability to take in lots of information from different and even conflicting sources and make sense of it. You are a grandee, I'm convinced."

"Don't know about that," Harry said. "If the Notts and Lestranges think I'm distracted by my own grandee-ness, though, that's to my advantage."

Harry looked around to make sure they were alone.

"Have you talked to Tracey about this?" asked Harry. "Not prying, I'd just feel better knowing neither of you would be hurt if a tongue should wag."

"How about if I don't go into it?" Daphne suggested. "Do you like just a bit of a mysterious air around you? In accordance with the demands of your position?"

"Just as long as you feel safe and secure," Harry answered. "With your feet on solid ground. Nothing gets to challenge that."

Daphne turned her face to the rising sun and indulged in a little basking while the angle was still low and gentle. She was such a Sphinx, thought Harry. At least he'd never be bored as long as Daphne was around.

"Good morning, Mother," said Iolanthe, in her best approximation of Daphne greeting Kendra, including a kiss on the cheek. "Good morning, Father."

Between Harry and Daphne they somehow covered "Good morning, dear; Good morning, Sweetie; How are you this morning?" and one or two more.

Iolanthe hadn't brought anything out with her.

"Periwinkle, may I have a cup of the raspberry tea, please?" Iolanthe called out.

"Good morning, Miss Iolanthe," gushed Periwinkle as she appeared with a tray holding a small teapot, cup, saucer and a little silver bowl of sugar cubes. Iolanthe was clearly Periwinkle's favorite out of the entire family. Everyone got equal levels of attention, but not everyone got the smiles and bows Iolanthe was given.

"Thank-you, Periwinkle," Iolanthe said. "You can let it steep for a bit."

Harry looked at Daphne, bemusement showing about the corners of his mouth. Daphne gave him the co-conspirator look.

"Wonderful work with the snakes yesterday, Iolanthe," Harry said.

"Indeed, Sweetheart," Daphne said. "I didn't see or hear of anyone encountering a snake all day."

Iolanthe pursed her lips a little.

"They are very responsible," she said, "If asked nicely."

Iolanthe grasped the handle of the teapot, which clearly outmatched her five-and-one-half-year-old strength, so Harry stretched out his hand and asked, "May I?"

"I'm going to check on James," Daphne said, getting up. "I'd take another coffee, if Periwinkle passes by."

Iolanthe let Daphne get back inside, then called, "Periwinkle?"

"Could you get another coffee out here for Mother?" she asked the elf. "Thank-you."

"What do you want to do today?" Harry asked. "Anything in particular?"

"I just got up," said Iolanthe. "What did you want to do?"

"Someone will be bringing me some things to read in a bit," Harry said. "That will probably be it, although you never know. We could walk to the Mill. Your grandmother and grandfather might like to see you. Maybe we could all go for a swim."

Iolanthe sipped her raspberry tea and looked down toward the Dart.

"All good," Iolanthe said, letting it sit there.

Daphne came back with James, followed by Tracey with Zelda. Daphne had traded her nightgown and robe for one of her seemingly endless supplies of emerald green track suits with silver trim. Tracey was in emerald green silk pajamas and matching mules. The children were in shorts and tees. Zelda and James had each inherited a version of their father's hair, which made for an air of almost competitive wildness in the morning.

Harry heard a 'pop' and looked toward the green. He got up from the table with a, 'Be right back,' and walked off to meet the messenger. Together they walked toward the house, and Harry's study. Harry offered coffee and mineral water, and the messenger accepted the water.

The messenger brought Harry some interesting reading, although nothing that would compel going to the office. He picked up a special quill and wrote notes that didn't show up on some of them. He filled a sheet of note-sized parchment and stuck the note to another of the documents with a touch of the wand and a silent charm. There was a muggle ministry with a reading room that Harry visited now and then. A liaison officer would bring him a file and wait while he read, then accept the file back when Harry was done. Harry was always amazed at the adaptations used—paper clips, staples, and straight pins. He'd lived with muggles until he was eleven, then gone back and forth for another six years, and he still marveled at the illogic of muggle life. It was all one big elaborate effort to make life work in the absence of magic.

Attaching his invisible note with a sticking charm gave Harry a lot of pleasure.

"That should do it, Mercury," said Harry. "Thanks for bringing that pile by."

"My pleasure, sir," said the messenger, anonymous behind the work name all the messengers used. "Anything else this morning?"

"Go on back and lead the prayers for a quiet remainder of our weekend," Harry said.

"Yes, sir," said Mercury, suppressing a laugh that instead came out in a semi-snort.

Harry waited while Mercury dropped his floo powder and said, "Forty-two," followed by the usual 'WHOOSH.'

Harry found the family engrossed in breakfast and lively conversation when he got back to the patio.

"Does everyone have something to swim in?" he asked. "It is the middle of summer, and Iolanthe and I were talking about what to do with today, and it occurred to me we haven't gone swimming. Would anyone like to go?"

It turned out everyone wanted to go, although James and Zelda probably didn't remember swimming from last year. Breakfast took a bit longer, but there wasn't any reason to rush. The group got to Greengrass Manor sometime around eleven, perfect for a swim before lunch, after which, with luck, the three-year-olds might consent to take a little nap.

They could have floo'd directly to the library, but Iolanthe had a special relationship with the talking gate, as did Harry, although hers was completely cordial in nature.

"Hel-LOW, Miss Iolanthe Astoria, and assorted others," said the gate in greeting. "May I say you're looking exceptionally fit this morning, and favoring your distinguished mother more each day?"

"Good-morning, talking gate," Iolanthe replied. "You are simply the best, smartest, most handsome gate anywhere. It's always a pleasure."

The gate could have let everyone pass without further comment, but the level of distinguished services to wizard-kind represented compelled additional ruffles and flourishes.

"Madame Davis, and the vibrant Miss Zelda, and Doctor Daphne, O.M. and her handsome son James Greengrass, and, of course…"

"Hello, talking gate," Harry said, acquiescing once again. "How are you today?"

"Oh, for a metal contraption that stands here in sun, rain, snow and ice, not opening even once, some days, probably pretty good, thank-you for asking, although, I never meet any of my own kind, so I really have no standard for comparison," the gate observed.

"I've never met any of your kind, either," Harry said, "so I'm wondering if you're unique?"

"That could be hurtful if directed to another species," the gate stated, a bit flatly, "But I'm made of metal and incapable of having feelings. According to current doctrine, that is. Someone needs to do some more research…"

Harry cut his losses and kept walking, bringing up the rear as the family moved into the foyer ahead of him.

"Grandmother!" Iolanthe shouted, racing down the hall. She didn't bother with the library. Iolanthe always seemed to know just where to find Kendra. Harry watched and tried to figure it out, so far without result.

Kendra was sitting in the sunny room with a pitcher of mineral water and a bowl of lemon wedges. Trix arrived and materialized tumblers for everyone with a snap of her fingers.

Iolanthe went straight for Kendra, who leaned down and presented her cheek for a kiss.

"Good morning, Grandmother," Iolanthe said. "How are you this morning?"

She reached for Kendra and gave her a hug, just the way she'd seen Daphne greet Kendra countless times. James and Zelda dispensed kisses as well, but saved the _elan_ , letting Iolanthe monopolize the graciousness.

"Look at the bags, and the towels!" Kendra said. "Someone's going swimming, it appears."

"We are!" Iolanthe confirmed. "Will you come too?"

"Of course," Kendra said, "I can't very well let you go off on your own, can I? How would I know if you got up to something?"

Daphne and Tracey went through their formalities with Kendra as well. Harry collected all the bags and stood waiting for Daphne to lead the way to the clipped green, and Fabio's magical Greengrass Lake.

Harry waited while Daphne and Tracey got the children changed and into the shallow water near the shore. He did lifeguard duty while the ladies changed in the cabana, then turned the supervision over to them and changed. He felt like swimming so he took care climbing down and kept his glasses on.

Harry swam in close and Iolanthe demanded he let her stand on his shoulders. He'd created that particular monster the previous summer, so he knew he was in for a good hour of shoulder stands, then hand stands, then tumbling into the water to the sound of screams. Then they'd repeat the process. With luck, James and Zelda would allow their mothers to shepherd them around the shallows and not discover until next year the delights of toppling off of an adult's hands in a terrifying pre-splash free-fall.

Greengrass Manor post-swim lunches were always memorable, and wholly dedicated to producing happy, satisfied children. Tuna salad, egg salad and cheese sandwiches were available, as were potato salad and unlimited French fries. Generous servings of orange-mango sorbet completed the meal.

Harry sat at the table with Raffles on his lap. Sometime in the first year after their wedding, Harry and Daphne were guests at an informal dinner and Raffles had popped up to get a closer look at Harry's plate, and had been Harry's special guest at the table ever after. Daphne asked the children not to follow Harry's example. Harry tried to keep his surreptitious hand-feeding of Raffles to a minimum.

Harry was just finishing his sorbet when he heard a 'WHOOSH' from down the hall.

"That should be Fabio," Kendra said.

"I turn my back for one minute…" Fabio managed to say as he entered the sunny room, before Iolanthe hit the floor followed by James and Zelda.

"How was the water?" Fabio asked, sitting down and assessing the remaining food.

"Perfect," said Kendra. "How was Torshavn?"

"It's so nice this time of year," Fabio said, a little chuckle in his voice. "We need to go spend a few days there and get some use out of the apartment. It's so different. Sea air, sunny days, cool at night, of course. The fishing is good, I was told. We could eat some fish, clear our heads, stare out at the Atlantic. What more could we want?"

Everyone agreed Fabio's description was paradisal, and they'd ought to make a group trip of it soon. It wouldn't be that night, though, and the adults soon rounded up the children and shepherded them out to the flat spot and a quick apparation home. Raffles and Harry lingered over their good-byes, and Harry promised he'd be back in hours, not days, and Raffles accepted that, with minor skepticism.


	21. Chapter 21

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Twenty-One

Iolanthe Discovers Self-Discovery

Iolanthe Astoria turned six on the very day the runes said would be most propitious for the observance of Black Christmas. The family moved to the Black estate on November 29 to decorate the house, place a tree in the salon and another in the foyer. Harry, Daphne, Tracey, Ginny, Millicent, Draco and Astoria decamped to the estate, along with Iolanthe, Zelda, James, and Scorpius. The thirtieth began with shopping in the village and ended with elves mixing, baking, infusing pears and apples with sugary cinnamon syrup, and making every imaginable holiday cookie and candy.

Teddy and Andromeda arrived on the thirtieth. Andromeda didn't really have a job to do, but Teddy did, and the restrictions on underage wizardry made solo travel a problem.

The roasting of meat and fowl began at seven on December first, in order to have everything ready for the trenchers at noon. Black Christmas had become something of an institution.

Blacks began arriving from Britain, Ireland, and France fairly early on the first. More than a few accepted a bowl of porridge or a toasted muffin that had been prepared, should anyone arrive who hadn't paused for breakfast at home.

Tracey was in her element. She loved planning and running any kind of event, but parties were her vocation. Fleur Weasley arrived early with Victoire, so Tracey conscripted Victoire and assigned her to the tree trimming detail, as Teddy's principal assistant.

"That worked out well," Fleur observed. "Teddy's lovely trees will be shown most favorably under Victoire's exquisite decorations."

"My thoughts exactly," said Tracey. "Would you take just a little cordial, Fleur? This is the brandy I'd planned to use on the fruitcake when it's time for dessert. You probably know it…it's French! Let me know what you think!"

Fleur moved around for a bit with the stem of her little cordial glass between her thumb and forefinger, greeting and patting little heads, and found herself in a sort of human gyre near the front door. The Blacks who apparated to the estate materialized on the front lawn and proceeded up a graveled path to the covered porch that ran across the front of the house. Fleur could observe them through a window, so she began opening the door and welcoming newly-arrived Blacks to Black Christmas.

She knew some of the newcomers from previous Christmas events and picnics, but if she didn't she would introduce herself, hug the men, kiss the women and invite them in to the foyer. Tracey thought at one point of pulling Fleur away from the door and assigning her to chat up some French Blacks whose English wasn't the best and who seemed to be struggling, but she could see that Fleur was enjoying the job she'd assigned herself. In the end, she left Fleur alone and took charge of the French Blacks herself, dragging them around while she bounced from room to room, complimenting elves, kissing children, making introductions in French and English and looking at her watch to confirm everything was keeping close to her mental schedule.

Daphne had the tissue paper crown supply and was managing coronations for all the children. Iolanthe had determined that at six, she had outgrown paper crowns, and had so advised Mother in a short pull-aside conversation on the fringe of the big scrum.

Harry wandered about, looking for drinks that needed freshening, welcoming newcomers, catching up on news, and generally being a host. A group of wizards had migrated into the back yard where they stood in their winter cloaks under a dormant arbor and puffed on clay pipes. Harry went out to check on their supplies and stayed for some conversation. Ron Weasley saw Harry through a window and joined him under the arbor. The conversation turned to quidditch, which was probably inevitable. Charley Weasley walked up and joined in. Before long, Ginny materialized from somewhere, and the lads deferred immediately to the legendary Harpy.

That shut the conversation down, at least as far as recounting of past quidditch glory went, none of the male former Hogwarts players having any professional time in their individual statistics. Ginny, though, had progressed in her post-quidditch journalism career and was editing the sports page of the Daily Prophet. Word was she would be a candidate for editor when that position next needed filling.

Quidditch now out of reach, as a viable topic, the gaggle began nibbling at Ginny for insights into why the Daily Prophet came out for this or that, why the popular advice column had begun appearing on a truncated schedule (illness was diminishing the nonagenarian advice maven's capabilities, poor thing), and other queries that sounded innocuous but could produce some compelling tidbits to pass along, should Ginny become unguarded in her responses.

Ginny was smart and experienced, though, and she gave very little away. In return, she got some insight into what was on a certain broom designer's mind (taxes, especially the possibility of an increase), early speculation that the leader of one of the larger Wizengamot caucuses was about to face a challenge from a younger rival, and some other bits that might mean something, or then again, might not.

Harry took it all in. Some he'd heard before, some he hadn't. In any case, he'd have to keep it on file mentally until confirmed elsewhere. He wasn't in law enforcement any longer, pulling out his pocket notebook and writing down witness names and contact information. His new field used different tools. Ginny wasn't reporting to him, although there were people on salary who were, and some of them weren't as productive as Ginny's casual conversation.

Millicent Bulstrode announced her arrival with a hand on Harry's shoulder. He looked around and saw the combative gaze assessing the assembly. She didn't see any threats, apparently, because her eyes kept their twinkle and her mouth briefly turned up at the corners.

"All," she opened.

"Professor," Harry returned.

"Harry," Millicent responded. The hand squeezed, not hard, but with some authority. "A table is prepared inside the Black family seat, and my information is the commencement of the feast awaits your presence."

The hand left Harry's shoulder, dropped down and slipped under his arm.

"Will you, kindly…" asked Millicent, inclining her head toward the door.

"Of course," Harry said, graciously accepting Millicent's guidance.

When they got to the door and went back inside, Iolanthe was waiting.

"Father," she said, just a bit of chill coming through. Millicent, on the other hand, was rewarded for completing her errand with a warm Iolanthe smile, and what appeared to Harry to be a mouthed 'thank-you.'

Harry wondered if Iolanthe had assigned Millicent to fetch him, but there wasn't time to ring those changes.

"Everyone, welcome to Black Christmas!" Harry began, and was answered with a round of cheers, applause and 'Hear-hear.'

The celebration continued through lunch, a toast to Blacks past and present, carols, distribution of little gifts for the children and students, punch, wassail and the fruitcake. Fleur had tested an adequate number of the little glasses of French brandy and pronounced it fit for pouring over a fruitcake and setting on fire.

Cleanup was a bit more complicated than it had been for the picnic, but Tracey had come up with what Harry thought was a brilliant solution for the leftover problem. As soon as traffic dropped off around the trencher, the elves began taking food back to the kitchen, where boxes awaited filling with the full range of main dishes, salads and desserts. Everyone getting ready to depart was offered a box to take home, with additional boxes happily laid on for families.

Winding up Black Christmas was surprisingly efficient, thanks to the elves. The children were bathed and pajama'd by seven-thirty. The adults who were staying overnight—Harry, Daphne, Tracey, Astoria, Draco, Millicent and Ginny—sprawled on couches and chairs, moving toward or away from the fireplace as the need to adjust their temperature changed.

The portraits whose subjects could stay awake smiled, watched, and eavesdropped. Harry, Iolanthe and Draco moved from room to room, visiting portraits, toasting Christmas and the Black family, Iolanthe with a wine glass filled with raspberry tea. The portraits were all aware it was her birthday and dispensed good wishes and blessings, to which she returned thank-you's and curtsies.

Harry often reflected on that Black Christmas, the year Iolanthe turned six, and thought that was when he began to see Iolanthe, as opposed to his little daughter. She didn't emerge gradually over the next ten years or so. She simply _was_ from that party on. She added bits of personality and subject matter competence, to be sure. The essential Iolanthe was there, though, and the future Harry would look back to that party and see her.

Iolanthe began pestering Tracey for her thoughts on the upcoming Black Picnic shortly after the first of the year, and by June was acknowledged to be a formal apprentice to the master party planner. She worked with Tracey on the two Black events, and planned smaller functions for James, Zelda and Scorpius all on her own.

Iolanthe had more than sufficient intellectual gifts to pick up reading, writing, and basic arithmetic very quickly. The number of children in the Potters' circle led naturally to a coalescence that became a pre-school, and, eventually, a primary school. This wasn't unusual. A spectrum of primary instruction was traditional among magical families. Muggle-born witches and wizards usually arrived at Hogwarts following years in their local primary schools. Some magical families hired tutors with educational qualifications for their magical children. This was another field popular with the squib community. Squibs grew up with their magical families, so they weren't put off by the accidental child magic. Experience had shown very few muggle teachers could adjust to working with magical children, although there were a handful who thrived on the adventure-filled days.

The extended families had a wealth of subject matter expertise. Neville Longbottom developed a primary-level sequence of botany courses, businessman George Weasley loved counting, adding and subtracting. He brought everyone along, starting with simple sums and continuing to the threshold of Arithmancy. Runes were optional, but Kendra and Hermione could find a few hours a week for the children who liked working with them. Fabio was a skilled draftsman and showed everyone how to use perspective in their sketches in one short session. Harry, Millicent and Ginny argued over who would take the gaggle out for a little cross-country run.

Daphne thought highly of mental mathematics as a great time-saving tool, as well as a practical exercise for young minds. Iolanthe did not take naturally to mental mathematics, and it provided her first experience with resistance to learning. She was unable to hide it and her frustration was apparent. Her mother was both sensitive and astute, though, and de-emphasized the subject, deciding Iolanthe could take a slower route to some minimal competence.

Iolanthe and Scorpius, the original scholars, were joined by James and Zelda when they became old enough to begin joining in. Rose Granger-Weasley was close to a charter member. Those were the core of five, orbited by interesting combinations of instructors and kindred scholars.

"Father, can I ask you something?" Iolanthe said one summer morning when she was seven. Everyone was at the breakfast table. Harry had just returned following his meeting with Mercury.

"Of course," Harry said. "What do you want to know?"

"Why does Mercury come to the house every morning?"

Daphne looked over at Harry wearing her most-bemused expression.

"He brings me things to read," Harry said. That seemed satisfactory.

The next time Iolanthe took note of Mercury she had another question.

"Can Mercury bring me something to read?"

"Iolanthe, I think we can take care of getting you something to read," Harry said. "What sort of material do you want to read?"

"Can I read what you read?" asked Iolanthe.

"No, that wouldn't work," Harry said.

"Why not?" asked Iolanthe.

"It's complicated, for one thing," Harry said.

That, once again, seemed to satisfy Iolanthe.

She was smart, though, and curious. She knew how to be persistent, on an intermittent basis. She never went so far she provoked a reaction.

Besides, she was about to turn eight and was her father's darling. Eventually she established that Harry had a job, although he didn't seem to. He didn't teach at Hogwarts or go to the ministry every day, or to St. Mungo's, like the other employed adults of her acquaintance.

Much earlier than he had expected, Harry had to sit down with Iolanthe and have The Talk. Like everyone in his position, the time came for Harry to explain to a close family member why he did things that looked odd, or didn't have an explanation, and that he could only go so far in conveying what he was actually doing.

He kept it as simple as he could.

"I do have a job," Harry began.

By the end of their conversation Iolanthe understood it wouldn't do for curious people to know just exactly what job Harry had, or where he worked, although Iolanthe could acknowledge, if pressed, that he did something in an office in London.

She also learned, in a tangential discussion, that Harry was a member of the Wizengamot, and attended sessions wearing a robe. For a not-quite-eight-year-old, putting on a robe and sitting on risers with the other robed members of the Wizengamot was a much better use of Harry's time than any job.

Iolanthe's elementary geography studies were enriched by trips with Fabio and Kendra to Torshavn and Fort-de-France. While enlarging her world view with a little travel, Fabio gave her some insight into the local botany, and why they went to visit the magical growers and collectors who supplied his customers' needs.

Without realizing it, Iolanthe and Scorpius absorbed masses of material that looped back to inform their lessons. By the time they were ten, Iolanthe, Scorpius and Rose were competent in the basic skills they would need as first-years at Hogwarts. Hermione began to get a little worried about Rose's aggressive scholarship.

"It's not a competition, Sweetheart," Hermione said one Wednesday afternoon. Hermione and Rose had come to #12 for tea and conversation.

"Nnhmm," Tracey murmured in agreement, tea cup to her lips. She kept her face toward Hermione but was spraining her eyes trying to look at Daphne.

"Maybe Daphne can explain it better," said the Head Unspeakable. Her job required the greatest magical skill paired with the highest tolerance for risk-taking. Ministers of Magic relied on the Head Unspeakable to keep Magical Britain from succumbing to new bits of unknown sorcery, figuring it out and neutralizing it before it became a problem. It was the ultimate competitive scholarship assignment in Britain.

"It might be normal to want recognition for one's scholarly efforts," Daphne said, not looking at Hermione. "At the start of our serious schooling, it might be a positive reinforcer. I don't know if I can remember that far back, perhaps your mother could."

Hermione, feeling her face flush, tried to hide behind her raised her teacup.

"As we watch our young witches mature, though, Rose, I think we, as mothers, hope they'll move on and start to love learning for the understanding, and insight, it gives, to see the connections between things," Daphne went on. "To begin to feel one has gained some wisdom, as opposed to isolated facts, based on one's own hard work, is the real reward. It comes later, but it does come. Don't you think, Hermione?"

"Rose, this is why we come over to tea with Daphne," Hermione acknowledged.

Iolanthe looked at Daphne, whose turn it was to attempt to hide a blushing face behind a bone china teacup.

The Black Picnic in June of Iolanthe's eleventh year was a great success. The weather was good, Scorpius was delighted with his party, Astoria was healthy, and no one was bitten by an adder. After everyone else had departed, Harry found Iolanthe sitting by herself on the stone wall, chin propped on hand, staring at the ground.

"Get into some bad raspberry tea?" he asked. Iolanthe looked up but didn't answer.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked. "Don't say nothing. Make something up if you have to."

"Stop it, Father," Iolanthe said with a laugh. "Besides, you're not the mind reader in this family."

Harry hopped up on the stone wall beside Iolanthe.

"We're about ready to go," he said. "Your mother sent me to collect you."

Iolanthe stared across the lawn and garden, out into the fields in their June green.

"I'll be eleven in December," Iolanthe said.

"December first," Harry confirmed. "I remember it well. I held your first blanket for the midwife. She took you from your mother and gave you to me. I was crying the whole time."

Iolanthe gave him a look.

"Were not," she said.

"Was too," Harry answered. "I'm not ashamed to say it."

"I'll be eleven in December, and the following September I'll go to Hogwarts," Iolanthe said.

"True. Does anything about that worry you?" Harry asked.

"No," Iolanthe said. "This is more fun, though. I know it is. That's all."

She jumped down from the wall and waited for Harry.

Of course she was correct. On the first day of September after she turned eleven, Iolanthe took the Hogwarts Express and was sorted into Slytherin House, as everyone had expected from the day she was born. She applied herself to her studies and got good marks. She wasn't interested in athletic competition but she liked physical exercise. She discovered gymnastics, which wasn't a very popular pursuit among witches because it did not use magic at all. Iolanthe liked to feel her muscles, bones and tendons work to overcome gravity and her own limitations, so the fact that gymnastics wasn't magical was the entire point, assuming one were a young witch with her outlook.

Several Hogwarts professors had known Harry or Daphne much longer than Iolanthe had been on Earth, which meant she was always aware someone would be keeping an eye on her. Luckily, Iolanthe was not inclined to boisterousness or acting out, so she was spared the rhetorical questions, such as, "What would your mother think of that?" and "What am I supposed to tell your father?"

Besides, young Walburga Black was the first Hogwarts portrait she'd gotten to know when she arrived. The witch she'd grown up calling Auntie Millicent was her Head of House, and she brought the new Slytherin girls down from the Great Hall to the entrance to the dormitory, gave them a short talk on the significance of the portrait of the great Slytherin witch, Walburga Black, and made introductions. Any foolishness would have generated a report from Walburga the moment her mother next sat down at her desk in the study at #12 Grimmauld Place.

Nevertheless, life as a Hogwarts first year was anticlimactic following eleven years in Iolanthe Astoria's Potter-Greengrass-Weasley-Davis childhood universe. Much of recent British magical history concerned the people she lived with, upon whose laps she had sat, listening to Auntie Astoria read from _The Odyssey_. The best academic marks, perfect behavior, and prodigious magical power were all Iolanthe's, as was to be expected. She might have wandered off into unconstructive pursuits had the boredom gone on long enough.

Her salvation arrived in the form of Care of Magical Creatures. Snakes were literal familiars of Iolanthe's. She could at least make herself understood by any reptile or amphibian, and many freshwater fish. She wasn't as good with birds and mammals but those she saw as worthy challenges and she threw herself into learning some of their languages. As she progressed during first year, and the class took up more exotic, sensitive or difficult creatures, Iolanthe began to develop a methodology for establishing basic communications, researching diets and nutrition, common diseases, mating habits and cycles, and the psychological basis for behaviors. She took good notes, which she collected in a portfolio.

Iolanthe could not have articulated it at eleven, but she craved challenges. Care of Magical Creatures was the first subject matter she'd encountered, other than mental mathematics, that pushed back when she'd grabbed hold. Born speaking parseltongue, it was a revelation when she spoke English to her first bowtruckle, reached out a hand, and jerked back a finger bitten to the bone.

She didn't become angry. She simply noted the phenomenon, theorized the bowtruckle was startled, and set about finding a sequence of words and actions that would be received without causing alarm. Her accommodation of the bowtruckle was a success and she developed her approach to new species based on that experience.

Gymnastics, that most difficult athletic activity, for muggles and magicals both, paired up nicely with Iolanthe's self-discovery of her own adaptation of the scientific method. The physical conditioning enabled miles of cross-country rambling at Potter Manor during school breaks, carrying a canvas satchel holding her field notebook and lunch. Uncounted hours in the stacks gave her a steadily-increasing knowledge of basic science that she applied in her observations of the natural world. Boring as it was, as she had predicted so accurately, Iolanthe's first Hogwarts year was a success.

Iolanthe and Scorpius took the end-of-term Hogwarts Express back to London, were met by their families and proceeded to #12 Grimmauld Place for a celebratory dinner. Kreacher laid the food and beverages out on a table in the second drawing room and everyone took care to load plates with the full range of Kreacher's early-summer selections.

The venue for dinner was the townhouse garden. The single patio table with its chairs was not expandable enough to accommodate everyone, so the overflow balanced plates on knees while sitting on the first level of the brick enclosures of the garden beds. The June twilight came on and Harry lit the sconces for a little more visibility. Conversation went on very late. No one thought the returnees should be pestered about getting to bed. Besides, all the adults wanted a near day-by-day recounting of their first Hogwarts year.

Harry and Daphne gave Scorpius an early birthday gift, a portfolio with a pocket for parchment, three sleeves for quills, and a magical ink bottle that collapsed when the portfolio was closed. The cover was a living beech tree, obviously given some kind of magical treatment to grow in the shape of a book, fresh and pliable. Fabio knew of those oddities, and informed Scorpius if he ever tired of watering it and trimming the little branches that kept trying to grow, he could plant the cover in the ground and a proper beech tree would emerge the next growing season.

Astoria learned of the portfolio and couldn't abide the thought of Scorpius getting a gift while Iolanthe didn't, so she brought her a copy of _The Odyssey_.

"Happy summer reading, Sweetie," Astoria said as she handed the leather-bound Fitzgerald translation over.

Iolanthe had formulated a plan for constructive use of her summer weeks well before the academic year's end. When she was at #12 Grimmauld Place, she rose and ate a light breakfast, then went to Harry's dojo to work out. She usually had James and Zelda as training partners, although they reserved the right to leave early.

After lunch she curled up with _The Odyssey_ or the Newt Scamander book and read for an hour. If Daphne or Harry were in the house she might pester someone to take her to Hyde Park for a little run.

When Iolanthe was at Potter Manor, Greengrass Manor or the Black estate, she would indulge in a little more substantial breakfast before packing her satchel and taking off on a field trip. She had known Plum forever, of course, but that summer of her thirteenth year was her first chance to do independent field work with magical creatures.

Iolanthe walked and talked with Plum for hours. Plum was an acknowledged fountain of information about woodland society. Iolanthe became very methodical about her investigations and records. As the summer went on, Iolanthe expanded her range, asking and getting permission to walk to the Mill to talk to the fairies and observe the wildlife that wandered through. She particularly liked sitting on the bench by the door, writing up her field notes or reading Homer with the crown of fairies whirling around her head.

Zelda and James wouldn't be old enough for Hogwarts for another year, so in September, Iolanthe and Scorpius returned to school with Rose Granger-Weasley on the Hogwarts Express. Shortly after the commencement of their second year, Iolanthe and Rose got an invitation.

"We'd like to talk to you about something," said an upper-class witch to Iolanthe after lunch one day. "It takes a little time to explain. Can you come out to the courtyard after dinner?"

"I guess so," Iolanthe said. "Should I bring anything?"

"Just yourself," said the girl before walking off.

Normally, Rose would have heard about the invitation immediately, but they were in different houses and their schedules kept them apart for the remainder of the school day. Some of the mystery went away when Iolanthe found herself leaving the Great Hall after dinner, walking beside Rose on the way to the courtyard.

"I wonder," Iolanthe said, leaving it there.

"We're about to find out," Rose replied.

Both had heard from their mothers about the self-perpetuating group of witches that accessed the section behind Madame Pince's desk, functioning as study partners and support group. They found a small group of second-years in the courtyard, getting chatted up by some of the older girls.

"Hullo, witches," called out a witch Iolanthe recognized as a seventh-year. She was a Carrow, and a Slytherin. Iolanthe had observed her all first year, keeping her distance. She'd heard about Carrows. This evening, Ms. Carrow didn't seem all that dangerous.

"We like to study," said Ms. Carrow. "It looks like you all like to study, at least some subjects. We'd like to show you a resource that has been useful to us, and we think you'd like to use. Come with us."

With that, the second years found themselves commingled with the older witches. No one was pushy, but as they walked together, the second years each made the acquaintance of at least two witches from more senior classes and houses other than their own. The group walk ended in a library work room filled with presses, stock of all kinds, ink, various gauges of waxed cord, and glue.

"Some of you may be aware we have a section of the library where some of the serious witches get together to study," Carrow went on. "Traditionally, the witches in the group observe the first years and look for candidates with academic promise. At the start of second year there is a short meeting to invite the candidates to join. It's not mandatory and no one will treat you any differently if you decline. All we try to do is give you a place to do your work where you'll find witches with a similar approach.

"As of now, you are all welcome to come back to the section behind Madame Pince's desk, access the books in the stacks, and make use of the peace and quiet," Ms. Carrow concluded.

That was that. It wasn't a club or library guild. There were no expectations that the witches would spend any arbitrary number of hours in the stacks. There weren't any badges or secret handshakes. In theory, it was just a bunch of witches using the section crammed with books of interest to witches. Young wizards weren't even informally banned, although appearances were very rare.

Rose and Iolanthe walked to the owlery arm in arm, getting a few looks, from students who didn't know them, for their Gryffindor and Slytherin ties and crests. Each wrote a note to her mother with the news, dispatching it by Black owl. Daphne and Hermione each wrote back saying she was very pleased, although neither thought it a surprise at all.

Scorpius loved studying. If he knew the information, he liked going over it again, just to enjoy the process. He figured out where Rose and Iolanthe were going, and forced them, by tireless wheedling, to tell him why. He considered asking about joining, then thought better of it, and he embarked on his own esoteric quest to educate himself on the life, times, and accomplishments of Merlin.

Scorpius requested permission to visit the restricted section. He scrupulously followed the rules, never dabbling in fiendish curse research, and not long after the start of second year he'd been granted a permanent pass. No one thought Merlin research held any particular dangers, for Scorpius or those around him.

"Why do you want a pass for the restricted section, Mr. Malfoy?" Millicent Bulstrode had asked.

"I am interested in Merlin," Scorpius answered. "He was the greatest wizard of his age, and a Slytherin. I've read the standard biography from the open stacks, and Mallory, of course, although Mallory is said to have taken some liberties."

"And you believe there will be other resources in the restricted section?" asked Millicent as a follow-up.

"The card catalog says there is a bound manuscript from the early twelve hundreds, so of course it is kept under more secure conditions," Scorpius explained.

That conversation tickled Professor Bulstrode's house pride and resulted in Scorpius' first pass granting him access to the restricted section. The daily requests for a pass went on for about a week until the professor took a piece of note parchment and attached it to the pass.

"Madame Pince," the note said. "Could Mr. Malfoy have indefinite access as long as his Merlin project is ongoing? It would save all three of us a lot of time."

Scorpius took his pass, with its note, to Madame Pince. At first she looked at him with a little skepticism. Was he sure he was limiting himself to his self-assigned Merlin project? He wasn't finding his way to any sort of forbidden or adults-only magic, was he?

"No, Madame Pince," Scorpius said, his mind firmly fixed on projecting complete sincerity. "The manuscript is very hard to read. Some days I can finish a page, some days less. There is so much Latin, then there are passages in some pretty arcane English mixed with Danish…"

Madame Pince began to warm up. Young Malfoy was speaking her professional language.

"Very good, Mr. Malfoy," she said. "What are you using to translate?"

"Well, I'm trying to add to my Latin as I go, to save time later on," Scorpius said. "There is a lot of insight into the eleven and twelve-hundreds in there, if one is patient. The stories were said to have been collected by a monk, Glott, from a monastery on an island in the Humber. Then some of the brothers took his parchments, copied out a proper manuscript and bound it all. That is what we have in the library. It's the only one in existence."

Scorpius sealed his first deal with that story about Glott, although he didn't know it at the time. Madame Pince was a scholar with an affinity for the old, the neglected and arcane. Her library reflected that. Even in a school, like Hogwarts, where one would expect a kindred spirit or two, the Madame Pinces of the world are often achingly lonely. When the young Malfoy showed up researching Merlin, and demonstrated he shared her compulsion to enter into a neglected field, learn new skills in order to understand his own discoveries, and embark on a scholarly relationship with a long-dead monk from a long-disappeared abbey, Madame Pince was smitten. True, she was intellectually smitten, but the young Malfoy got his pass, and Madame Pince's blessing.

What the witches and wizards on the faculty had forgotten, it seemed, was how wild the first millennium had been. Druids, warrior queens and woad-dyed mountain tribesmen set the tone. A simple witch or wizard was barely worth noting. Arthur Pendragon himself was the result of an adulterous coupling carried out by means of a transfiguration. His half-sister, Morgan, was the stuff of such legend she was still a kind of patron saint to the wildest modern witches. If he were so inclined, Scorpius could have teased a lifetime's worth of fiendish magic out of Glott's tales.

That wasn't his purpose, though. Scorpius wasn't yet smitten himself, but he was on his way. His distant Black cousin Rose Granger-Weasley would be the smiter. Scorpius might have sensed it, although it would be many months before he could admit it to himself, and more before he could speak of it to another human being.

Iolanthe and Rose had been using the stacks behind Madame Pince's desk for a week when Iolanthe raised the subject of their good luck.

Organizing her books and preparing to leave, Iolanthe said, "This has been fun."

Rose put her books together and stood. "I agree. How did we live without this last year?" she asked.

"I don't know," Iolanthe said. "Were you bored last year?"

"I made up my mind to stay interested," Rose answered, "But I was bored. I worked and worked, but the harder I worked outside of class, the more turgid the lessons became. Does that make sense?"

Iolanthe thought it over.

"We're very lucky, Rose," Iolanthe said. "Our mothers have brains. Serious, witch brains. They got us ready for Hogwarts. Not to take anything away from our fathers, you understand."

"I know what you mean," Rose said. "Mum isn't an educator, but she always had one more step all ready for me when I mastered something. 'Have you looked into X?' she'd say. I'd go on to X and it built on what we'd been doing, and then there was Y after that and then Z. She understands me. Harry and Ronald would destroy entire civilizations for us, though, if that were what we needed. Can't take that away from them."

"Oh, no," Iolanthe agreed. "They might not have been in a study group, but they are definitely adequate. Just who you want watching your back."

They arrived at the point where they would part, Iolanthe to head for the dungeons, Rose to Gryffindor Tower. They somehow hugged despite the two piles of books and kissed each other on the cheek.

"Tomorrow," they said together.

A second year Slytherin boy caught the exchange.

"Did you just kiss a Gryffindor?" he asked, his tone conveying serious disapproval.

Iolanthe gave him a stare with the blue-gray eyes she'd gotten from Daphne. She thought of snakes.

"Shut up, Goyle," she said, showing Goyle a great mass of writhing reptiles where her platinum hair should have been. Goyle stiffened and fell backwards.

Iolanthe Astoria hummed to herself as she descended the stairs to the dungeons. Her work was done and all her parchments prepared and put in order for tomorrow's classes. She thought she'd pull out _The Odyssey_ , summon Winky, and see if a small pot of raspberry tea might be possible.

"POTTER!" Walburga shouted as soon as Iolanthe approached the door to the girls' dormitory.

"Madame Walburga," Iolanthe offered, along with a curtsy. "I sense you have something on your mind, something you'd like to tell me about."

Walburga melted before Iolanthe's show of respectful deference, as Iolanthe expected she would.

"My dear, you are so much like your grandmother," said the young Walburga, "So skilled at such a young age, and all those perfect Davis manners Kendra taught you, but you must remember the Potter side of you can be a little volatile. Can I ask you nicely to think before you curse your housemates? Just until you all graduate and attain your majorities?"

"The hat decided to turn a Potter into a Slytherin witch. What did everyone expect? Is Goyle getting up?" Iolanthe asked out of genuine curiosity.

"Yes, he's up," Walburga said. "He doesn't seem to remember anything, either. Was there a _confundus_ in among those snakes?"

Iolanthe giggled.

"I worked that out over the summer," she said. "Now that I know it works, I'll be very careful with it. Thank you for your wise counsel. Good-night, Madame Walburga."


	22. Chapter 22

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Twenty-Two

Iolanthe and Rose and All Their Nefarious Schemes

Iolanthe and Rose discovered that a loose system was in place that informally assigned elders to the new witches in the study group. During their first weeks following the meeting in the library work room, fifth and sixth-years would come by and sit down and ask how things were going. What were the young witches working on? Did they need any help, or were there things in their assignments they didn't understand?

At the end of the process, each second-year had two older witches from houses other than her own to whom she could go with questions about assignments, or anything else that was on her mind. There wasn't any name for it—no mentors, no big sisters, no guides. In the end, each of the serious young witches had two older friends from outside her house who had gone before and were available to talk about anything. The end result just seemed to have happened. Iolanthe and Rose puzzled over how that came about.

"Mother would know," Iolanthe offered. It was Saturday, a gorgeous autumn day for sitting under a tree and looking out at the lake. "We'll ask her at Christmas. I suspect it is a very old institution that evolved over time."

"A need existed, was identified, and witches stepped up to fill it," Rose postulated.

"As they always do," Scorpius said, flopping down on the grass.

After a couple of 'Hi, Scorpius' greetings, everyone lapsed into silence as they soaked up the surroundings. Rose had kicked off her loafers, exposing a prominent hole in the toe of one sock.

"Rose," Scorpius said.

"Scorpius," Rose returned.

"Hold still," Scorpius ordered, drawing his wand and casting _reparo_ before Rose could react.

Rose looked at her sock and wiggled her toes. The mend held. She turned and gave Scorpius a look, her face held in a strictly neutral pose.

"I have to thank you, for politeness' sake, for that most competent _reparo_ , but you need to know that was extremely presumptuous of you," Rose said.

"Oh," Scorpius said, blinking rapidly while he turned crimson. Rose immediately felt very bad for her negative flash reaction.

"Come," Rose said, gesturing Scorpius closer. She put her arms around his shoulders and hugged. "You can get away with it with me," she began, "but you really don't want to go around mending ladies' garments without being asked, especially if the ladies are still inside them. It's guaranteed to raise questions in idle minds."

Rose let Scorpius go with just a little bump of her face to the top of his head, not really a kiss, as such, nothing anyone could find objectionable, and all three got back to normal, staring out at the lake.

"How's the Merlin research coming along?" Iolanthe asked some minutes later. Scorpius, grateful for a topic that would get his mind away from his _faux pas_ , which he feared would henceforth follow him, hellhound style, throughout his life, opened up. The Merlin research was going very well, and Scorpius described it in detail.

The witches let him go on. They liked scholarship and neither one had done Scorpius' depth of reading-in on Merlin, so he was saving them from having to do the reading themselves. Merlin laid much of the foundation of British wizardry, and Merlin studies really was a topic every aspiring witch or wizard in Britain ought to know something about.

Scorpius tired of talking, eventually, and he looked at his watch. Lunch time had arrived.

"There's quidditch after lunch," he said, "If anyone is interested."

It took Rose and Iolanthe a few seconds to sort shoes and get them back on. Scorpius had strolled ahead some yards before they turned to go back.

"I saw what you did there," Iolanthe informed Rose, her back still toward Scorpius as he walked away from them.

"You didn't see anything," Rose corrected her, with some firmness, "And besides, you have to stick to the code."

"What code is that, anyway?" Iolanthe said. "I think I'd like to get a copy of that code."

"This one right here," Rose said, as she slipped her hand under Iolanthe's arm and linked up. "It's such an ancient code, I think it may be older than writing."

"Scorpius, who's playing quidditch?" Iolanthe called out. Scorpius stopped and turned, waiting for them to catch up.

"Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw," Scorpius said.

"No wonder," Rose sighed. "I can barely keep up with Gryffindor. The only reason I go to see them is to be prepared for the interrogations. Harry Potter and Ronald Bilius Weasley made my life very difficult last term, you may as well know. You'd think the Purpose of Life were to play quidditch, and when not actually playing, to talk about it."

"So, do you want to go?" Scorpius asked. "Another hour or two of fresh air? Sunshine?"

"It does sound better than sitting indoors," Iolanthe said.

They'd reached the Great Hall and would be dividing up to eat at their house tables. Iolanthe looked at Rose.

"Okay," Rose said. "Meet you outside the pitch."

Rose peeled away toward the Gryffindors, Iolanthe and Scorpius to Slytherin. Scorpius stepped over the bench and put his book down. Iolanthe noticed him gaze a bit vacantly toward the Gryffindors, then absently raise his hand to touch the top of his head. She dropped the book she'd been carrying on top of Scorpius' and sat down, turning a radiant smile on the Goyle sitting across the table, the very one she'd made her experimental rat for the field test of the Medusa curse.

"Goyle," she nodded, observing closely for any reaction, strictly for scientific purposes. He didn't seem to be affected by his experience. Iolanthe resolved to remember to record that in her field notes.

Hogwarts' weekend meals were much less formal than the weekday versions. Faculty and older students often had things to do away from school, considerably lowering the numbers present. Parents and alumni wandered in, especially on quidditch match days.

"Black alert," Scorpius said.

Iolanthe looked around. Blaise was walking up the center aisle with Zelda.

"How'd he pry her away from James?" Iolanthe wondered.

Blaise held Zelda's hand as they climbed the few steps to the dais, then led the way to Professor McGonagall. He exchanged a few words with the headmistress, who took Zelda's hand in both of hers and appeared to be welcoming her to Hogwarts a year in advance. Blaise broke away from the headmistress and walked down the row to Millicent Bulstrode, who stood to shake hands before leaning down to Zelda height for a brief hug and exchange of words.

"Probably came for the quidditch," Scorpius concluded.

"Or lunch," Iolanthe suggested.

The Slytherins were all consciously focusing on cool while fighting the near-overwhelming urge to stand up to get a better look at Blaise. The legendary Blaise Zabini figured in so many Slytherin common room fireside stories. There were a limited number of main themes, but those lent themselves to endless permutations. He was a survivor of the Battle of Hogwarts. He had selflessly exposed himself to all manner of magical danger to rescue casualties under fire. He had single-handedly rebuilt Hogwarts after the battle using only his wand. Zelda was his child with the beautiful and unobtainable Tracey Davis, now thought to have moved on to become Harry Potter's concubine. Some of the legends became just a bit more salacious in male-only fireside discussions, but those were mostly graded lower for credibility.

Blaise and Zelda worked their way back through the house tables. They got to Rose and Blaise asked how things were going. Zelda looked like she wanted to worm her way onto the bench alongside Rose and fill a plate.

Both Rose and Zelda had each chosen to comb their hair completely out when they got up that morning.

"I like your hair," Zelda said.

"I like yours," Rose returned, inclining her head so the two mounds briefly touched. "Are you going to stay and have lunch with me?"

"Zelda's got to say hello to Scorpius and Iolanthe," Blaise said.

Zelda and Rose exchanged 'Bye's' and bumped cheeks before Blaise led the way to the Slytherin table. Zelda went to see Scorpius and Iolanthe while Blaise walked up the opposite side. Goyle was the end of his row, so Blaise sat down beside Goyle and stuck out his hand.

"Blaise Zabini," he said. "If I had to guess, I would guess you are a Goyle."

By this time Zelda was stepping over the bench into the just-vacated space between Iolanthe and Scorpius.

"My favorite cousin, come to have lunch," Scorpius exclaimed.

"Uh-huh," Iolanthe said, throwing a little, quizzical 'Oh yeah?' look toward Scorpius.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Zabini, Walter Goyle," said Goyle, taking Blaise's hand. The entire Slytherin table seemed to be trying to keep from staring at the spectacle down at the end, without a great deal of success.

Blaise reached across the table and helped himself to a carrot spear from Iolanthe's plate.

"Where are your raw vegetables?" he asked Scorpius, crunching the carrot. "Is Winky here? We need two more plates."

Winky and the plates materialized as he said it. Winky had nurtured an elf crush for Blaise ever since she'd first come to work at Hogwarts, when Blaise was still a student. The possibility of seeing him, and now his daughter, to whom she was equally devoted, were extra special bonuses for continuing to perform temporary duty with the Potter household, whenever she was needed.

Blaise looked at a platter of fish several seats down from their place at the table and Winky brought it down with levitation.

"Looks like we've got plenty, thanks to Winky," Blaise observed. "Who needs fish? Mr. Goyle?"

"Uh, uh, certainly, sir," Goyle managed. His preferred menu comprised beef, potatoes and lots of well-buttered brown bread, but if Blaise Zabini was going to serve up fish and call him Mr. Goyle, then Walter Goyle would eat some fish.

Iolanthe kept a bemused eye on Goyle while she and Scorpius pumped Zelda for gossip from home, an explanation for James' absence, and the purpose of her visit with Blaise. It was all pretty simple. Blaise owed Zelda a promised trip to Hogwarts to watch a quidditch match, and Tracey had an event-management engagement in Glasgow. James, Daphne, Teddy, Harry, Trix and Periwinkle were performing a general fall cleaning at the Mill.

Lunch went on and the conversation continued. Blaise asked how everyone was settling in after the summer break, what subjects were holding their attention. He rehashed his feelings of advanced age brought on by conversing with a classmate at the faculty table who was now head of their old house.

He got a laugh out of everyone, except Zelda, who looked like she would have rather melted and dripped onto the flagstones than have to sit and endure her father's laments.

Lunch progressed through dessert, a warm apple crumble with a scoop of pumpkin ice cream on top. Few students took the time to linger over dessert, as game time was approaching. That was too bad, because the swirl of flavors and textures really was quite pleasing to the palate, and the kitchen elves had worked very hard on the crumble and the ice cream.

When the tables started to seriously depopulate, Blaise turned to Scorpius.

"Are you going to the match?" he asked.

"Uh-huh," Scorpius answered. "Iolanthe, Rose and I were all going. It's Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, so we can all sit together. Are you going to join us?"

"Yes, if I'm invited," Blaise said. "I do have one little thing to do here in the castle, so I was wondering if I could get you to take over for me with Zelda until I can get to the stands."

"Of course," Iolanthe said. She turned to Scorpius.

"If Zelda and I start for the pitch, and walk slowly," Iolanthe began, "Can you take our books to the dungeon?"

"On my way," Scorpius said as he stood and scooped up the books they'd brought in from outside.

"'Bye, Dad," said Zelda, getting up.

"Well…okay," Blaise answered, recognizing dismissal when he was subjected to it. "See you soon."

The essence of a beautiful autumn day is the lamination of golden sunshine, lapis lazuli skies, slow moving cumulous clouds and seasonal aromatics with melancholy, sprung forth from certainty that the aesthetic treasures are heralds of the dark months, the time of slumber, and cold, which plants, animals and humans will endure until the Great Turning, and spring, unlock the wonders of the living planet once more. It would not do to ponder that while trying to enjoy a good quidditch match, of course. The closer Iolanthe and Zelda got to the pitch, the more excited Zelda became. She was in love with the banners, the chants, the smells of fall, and the spectacle of two teams flying above it all, chasing three kinds of balls from broomsticks.

Neither Tracey nor Blaise had played quidditch at Hogwarts, but Zelda's wider family was filled with players. Harry, Draco, Ron and Ginny had all worn quidditch robes for their houses, and Madame Pomfrey had the medical record jackets to document their service. Zelda had no memory of not having a child's play broom that she could get on and fly around Potter Manor. The broom's maximum flying height was supposed to be about eighteen inches, but Zelda had discovered on her own how to fly hard toward the top of the stairs and let her momentum carry her out over the drop, getting her a few seconds flight at six or eight feet above the closest surface. Her fondest dream was to go to Hogwarts and play quidditch, preferably for Slytherin, but any of the other houses would do as long as she could play.

"We'll wait here," Iolanthe said. "That looks like Rose coming now, and Scorpius will probably need a few minutes more."

As predicted, a very short time later Zelda was being conveyed up into the general admission stands by Rose, Iolanthe and Scorpius. Seats were no problem as an early season Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw contest didn't pack the blood-feud emotional punch that a Gryffindor vs. Slytherin game entailed.

The party hadn't been seated long before the two teams emerged from their dressing room exits and flew up above the stands for a little warming up. Zelda was ecstatic.

Blaise arrived and took a seat shortly before the whistle sounded and the game began. It was early in the season so the new members weren't the well-fitted parts meshing perfectly with their mates that would be the standard later on. Even Blaise, who didn't have the quidditch insider perspective that game experience alone could provide, could spot players giving up advantage by being out of position, common flying mistakes that ought to be cured by more hours on a broom, and wasted motion awaiting the erasure of disciplined repetitions.

That was to say, it was a fun game to watch. There were no warming or drying charms needing refreshing, none of the dullness of perfectly-drilled, perfectly-matched teams playing for hours and hours with neither capable of forcing a decision. Bludgers got past beaters, breaking up chasers' formations, keepers lost track of the action making successful defense of the goals as much luck as skill.

The issue was in doubt from start to finish, until Hufflepuff's seeker, sitting still on his broom like a hunter in a blind, simply reached out and grasped the hovering golden snitch, scoring one hundred-fifty points and ending the game. It would not be until the middle of the season that the Hufflepuff captain could convince the seeker that sitting still awaiting a visit from the snitch was not a viable long-term strategy.

The group formed up again and exited the stands with the boisterous crowd, everyone feeling the intoxication of autumn sunshine, the aftereffects of cheering for the abstraction of sport, and presence in congenial company.

"Can we come again, Dad?" Zelda asked.

"Of course, Zelda," Blaise said. "There is plenty of quidditch season left."

"Oh, goody," Rose observed, getting laughs from Scorpius and Iolanthe.

Blaise and Zelda said their good-byes at the great front doors, Rose and Iolanthe dispensing love and invitations to Zelda for future visits, and Scorpius shaking hands with Blaise and thanking him for coming.

"Library?" asked Rose as they finished waving and turned toward the doors.

"I was thinking freshen up and take a little nap," Iolanthe said.

"I'm going to spend some time with Brother Glott," said Scorpius.

"Impressive," Rose allowed, falling into step with Scorpius. "Most impressive."

Iolanthe returned to the dungeon. When she got to the entrance to the girls' dormitory, she saw her book sitting on an occasional table under young Walburga Black's portrait, a piece of parchment sticking out that said IOLANTHE POTTER.

"Good afternoon, Madame Walburga," Iolanthe said, dispensing a quick curtsy along with the greeting. "I'll just take my book. Thank you for watching it."

"Any time, dear," Walburga answered, clearly clawing herself up from a deep sleep.

"Your cousin Scorpius was such a perfect gentleman when he dropped it off. Such a fine group of young Slytherin witches and wizards these last years. I'm so proud to be associated with you."

"That is high praise, Madame Walburga," Iolanthe said. "For the record, I'm very proud to be here. Thanks again."

Iolanthe tidied up the area around her bed in the Slytherin girls' dorm. She put her books away, got some clean clothes and a towel from her dresser and headed for the shower cabins. In the silence of the girls' bath it wasn't possible to miss faint sounds of crying coming from a cubicle at the end of the row. Iolanthe attributed it to a mild case of heartbreak and resolved to keep her nose to herself and let the victim handle it.

She turned toward the shower cabins and hung her towel and clean clothing on the hooks provided. She had her hand on the shower knob when she changed her mind.

"What's wrong?" she asked, flip-flopping down the row. "Do you need some help?"

"I don't know," came a voice Iolanthe thought she recognized.

"Well, why are you crying?" Iolanthe asked.

"It's embarrassing," said the girl.

Iolanthe started sorting the cues and took a guess about what was coming.

"Did you start?" she asked. "Is this your first one?"

Silence.

"Stay there," Iolanthe said. She returned to the shower cabin, retrieved her towel, and brought it back.

"Open up," she ordered. The girl inside was a fifth year, a Lestrange from whom she'd always kept her distance. Potters, Greengrass's and the Lestrange clan had had some rather disastrous encounters over the years.

"It's Lissette, isn't it?" Iolanthe asked.

Lissette Lestrange nodded. Daphne saw some discarded things on the floor.

"Here, Lissette, take this," Iolanthe said, holding out her towel. "Wrap this around yourself and go take a shower. Leave those, I'll tend to everything else. Where can I get you a pair of clean…?"

"Dresser, next to my bed," Lissette murmured, blinking out tears.

Iolanthe made sure Lissette got to the shower cabin and waited until she heard the water, then made her way to Lissette's room in the upper classes' section and selected clean items for a proper weekend outfit. She made a stop at her own dresser on the way back to the bathroom.

"Winky," she called, and Winky materialized at the foot of Iolanthe's bed.

"Winky, these are Miss Lissette's. There was a little accident and Miss Lissette's things need washing up. I'm sure it's not the first time you've seen this, with all of us young ladies around," Iolanthe said. "No one but us needs to hear about this, okay? If you could just see to the washing and drying and put everything back in Miss Lissette's dresser, I will be very, very grateful."

"Of course, Miss Iolanthe Astoria, thank you for asking Winky! Winky is so proud Miss Iolanthe counts on her," said the elf, barely able to contain herself.

Handing over the laundry to Winky, Iolanthe took her cargo to the shower cabin.

"I have some things here, when you're done," she called out, then sat down on a bench to wait.

The sound of running water stopped, the door to the cabin opened a crack and a hand emerged.

When Lissette Lestrange came to find her, Iolanthe was lying in bed, propped up on her pillow with her Fitzgerald, trying to keep track of Athena's transfigurations from human to bird form and back again.

"All set?" she asked.

Lissette nodded.

"Thank you, for everything," she said, and started to turn.

"Lissette," Iolanthe called after her. Lissette turned back around.

"You'll need more, soon. You came to school without any. What do you plan to do?"

Lissette's eyes welled up again, she crossed her arms and shook her head in an 'I don't know' gesture.

Iolanthe, the second-year who wasn't quite thirteen knew she was far out of her depth, but she also knew she couldn't release Lissette into the wild in her current condition.

"Let's go," she said, getting up.

"Where?" Lissette asked.

"You don't think you're the first witch to have the experience you just had, do you?" was all Iolanthe would say. She took a look around her area, didn't see anything out of place, slipped into her shoes and took Lissette's hand.

Iolanthe was sitting up late in the Slytherin common room, alone, staring out at the lake and hoping to add to her notes on the giant squid when Lissette joined her.

"Iolanthe," said Lissette as she walked up and sat down. "I owe you. Never, ever wonder if you can ask me for anything, anything at all."

Iolanthe didn't say anything while she looked at Lissette, studying her face in the subdued lighting of the common room.

"Mother's a Slytherin witch," Iolanthe shrugged. "She's spent years getting me up to an understanding of what that means. You're my Slytherin sister."

Iolanthe continued, as if reciting a creed: "We look out for each other. It's an honor to be the one who can render a service. When anyone does something for one Slytherin witch, they do it for us all."

She let that sink in before going on.

"How'd it go with Madame Pomfrey?"

"She was wonderful," Lissette said. "Explained everything. I never heard men and women and feelings and Nature and all of it being cycles and fitting together talked about the way she did. My mother should have done. I don't know if you're familiar with the Lestrange's, but…"

Iolanthe had to smile.

"Aptly named?" she asked.

"Exactly," said Lissette, nodding. "The list of things my mother can't discuss would fill a book. Taboo subjects. Hogwarts saved me, no exaggeration. First year was like a revelation a day. Can you believe it? I guess the book and the quill really are authoritative, if they found a witch down inside me. Anyway…"

"Anytime, sincerely," Iolanthe said, returning to her hunt for the giant squid as soon as Lissette turned to go.

That was the week Iolanthe began to fulfill the prophecy Harry delivered before she was born. She carried herself in a way that projected a little more authority. Older witches began to defer to her. When she entered a room, seats were offered, even if there were no more unoccupied seats. She still pushed herself. No subject matter intimidated her. She still spent her free time on gymnastics and studying magical creatures.

Iolanthe Astoria Potter was beginning to get an understanding of just who she was and what that entailed. Faculty interactions took on a new tone. Diminutives disappeared and she ceased hearing 'Potter,' only 'Ms. Potter' this and 'Ms. Potter' that. Except for Professor Bulstrode, of course, who would slip in a quiet, "Very good, dear, very good indeed, keep it up," if there were no one within earshot.

Iolanthe Astoria had grown up shadowing Harry as he walked among the Blacks at Black Christmas and the Black Picnic in June. She'd walked beside him, getting introduced, listening to conversations, gauging others' feelings by observing the way they stood and learning to recognize strain or confidence in their tone. By now Iolanthe and Harry followed up every Black Picnic and Christmas party with a long and detailed deconstruction of the event, the guest list, the various sub-clans within The Blacks, how one nuclear family differed from another, who'd had a sketchy past, where the pro- and anti-Voldemort boundary ran, and on and on.

It was true the Black family had lurched into difficult times. They could have become defunct, their properties broken up and sold, just another extinct family in 'The Sacred Twenty-Eight' had Harry not been available to be Sirius' heir. When Harry took an interest in nourishing a Black revival, he decided to include the remaining Black cousins, no matter how distant. Even if their connections were a bit fuzzy, they weren't any more so than his own, so he leaned toward inclusion. He wasn't afraid to exercise his prerogatives as clan chief. Those weren't written down anywhere so he made a few up as he went along, all in the interest of promoting the general Black welfare.

Iolanthe Astoria assumed leadership of the Blacks at Hogwarts. No one asked her to, and she didn't ask permission. None of the Blacks objected. They liked the way Iolanthe Astoria Potter represented them.

Iolanthe came across a Black witch in a clump of upper class witches, whom she vaguely remembered from the most recent Black Picnic.

"Hullo," she said.

"Hullo," said the witch. Iolanthe gave her a hug, and the witch hugged back. Iolanthe had to keep going, but the witch sent her off with a "Bye, Iolanthe."

"My cousin," the witch explained.

After that, Black witches merited hugs, regardless of other considerations. Black wizards were powerful paladins addressed as Mister. A Black quidditch player from a winning team got a stop-by visit and public congratulations from Slytherin-robed Iolanthe at the next meal, regardless of house, an unprecedented act for a Slytherin. If she heard of a Black cousin struggling with a subject, she looked for another one who could tutor them.

Iolanthe, Scorpius and Rose formed one of those human threesomes that illustrated the geometric principal of triangles, where the shape, once formed, could not be altered unless one of the members bent or broke. Near the end of term, right on the cusp of June, a distant Black cousin happened on the three loitering in some shade near the castle's great front doors, and stopped to ask if Lord and Lady Potter-Black were going to throw a Black Picnic around the time of Scorpius' birthday. Iolanthe pivoted to make an opening between herself and Scorpius and linked her arm through their cousin's to bring him into the fold as end of term exuberance asserted itself.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, YES," Iolanthe exclaimed. "We're the Blacks!"

Rose and Scorpius happily affirmed that they were absolutely, without equivocation, THE BLACKS, and proud of it. The foursome broke up with mutual assurances all would see all at the Black estate in a few weeks and went their separate ways in much-improved states of mind.

What began as a one-off bit of ribaldry turned out to be a seed, and it started to grow.

"That was a very nice thing you did for your cousin today, dear," Young Walburga's portrait said to Iolanthe when she next arrived at the Slytherin girls' dormitory. It took a few seconds for Iolanthe to grasp Walburga's meaning.

"Oh, of course, we are the Blacks, and we like it that way," she said, dispensing a curtsy as a sort of 'Thank you very much.'


	23. Chapter 23

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Twenty-Three

Summer Plans

When end of term came around, Scorpius, Rose and Iolanthe were getting mentioned in staff room conversations. 'No wonder,' and 'Blood will tell' were heard, it never being clear whether accomplishment reinforced the cliché or the other way 'round, but in the end, it made no difference.

Scorpius had stuck with the Glott manuscript, finally getting through the last tale of Merlin with a week to go in the spring term. He'd consulted with Professor Binns, the History of Magic instructor, on some future plans. Professor Binns had been happy to commit to collaborating in the fall, since, as a ghost, there wasn't any question of whether he would still be at Hogwarts when the next term commenced.

"I'd like to bring Glott into this century," Scorpius had said. They were talking in the staff meeting room. Professor Binns no longer needed an office of his own, since he didn't have a body that required space.

"How, exactly?" Binns asked. "He's quite dead. I don't think he left a ghost around. At least, I can't say I've run into it."

"What do you think of this, Professor?" Scorpius began. "Hogwarts has the only copy of the Glott manuscript, or so it appears. There aren't any records of others, unless the records themselves are restricted somehow. I sent an owl to Hermione Weasley, and she assured me the Department of Mysteries doesn't have anything."

"Is that the former Miss Granger?" Binns asked.

"Yes, my father's classmate, and Ronald Weasley's, Harry Potter's…" Scorpius confirmed.

"Well, that's excellent," said the professor. "You could not get better guidance or information. If Ms. Granger says so, take it as read that you're correct and Hogwarts alone has the honor to house Brother Glott. What did you want to do with him?"

"Next year, for something to do, I thought I would transcribe Glott, putting him into modern English, translating all the Latin and Danish, and annotating anything that needed annotating," Scorpius said. "Highlight discrepancies between a Glott account and Mallory or Geoffrey of Monmouth. There are disagreements on the current definitions of some of the words and terms in the old languages. Those would get a footnote. That sort of thing."

"My boy, that would be quite a task," Binns said. "You'd be doing a tremendous service to history, and magical historians. Just how did you come across Glott to begin with?"

Scorpius shrugged.

"I got interested in Merlin, for some reason," he said. "It might have been connected to Slytherin, although I'm not certain myself right now. I'd read Mallory. Then I went to the card catalog and found the card for Glott's manuscript. I had to get permission to work in the restricted section, but Professor Bulstrode and Madame Pince have been very supportive."

"Right, then," said Binns. "We'll take this up in the fall. If you're still interested and want to tackle Glott, I'll do what I can to see you get whatever support you need. This is all in addition to your classes, I take it?"

"Yes, sir," Scorpius said. "A hobby. Something to do when the homework is done. Stay out of trouble."

"Wonderful," said Binns, "You've read Glott, and now you want to go full scholar on him. Give him the treatment, eh? That is really first class, Mr. Malfoy. Have a fine summer break."

Rose had some half-formed plans for next term but was more focused on her summer workload. She had sent her book requirements to Hermione by owl as soon as she had the next term's classes confirmed. Hermione had the books and supplementary materials put together by Flourish and Blotts, then the Granger-Weasleys went down to the Leaky Cauldron for a Saturday lunch, settling up for the books on their way home. All were waiting at home as soon as Rose returned on the Hogwarts Express.

"Now the real work starts," Rose said to Iolanthe, with relish, when they'd finished their last day of exams. They'd found a free table and chairs under one of the covered walkways that connected the Hogwarts buildings. The textbooks they'd be taking to Flourish and Blotts were piled on the table. Soon they'd be packed in their trunks in preparation for the return to London.

"You aren't going to spend the summer with your nose in next year's books, are you?" Iolanthe asked.

"Of course not," Rose answered, wondering where Iolanthe got such thoughts. "Just the first two weeks. That ought to be enough, if I work at it. Then I'll pester Hermione and Ronald for some trips to interesting places related to what I've just studied, for background and enrichment. So I understand the why, and not just the what."

"Oh, and your mother will take you?" Iolanthe asked.

"I hope not," Rose said with a little recoil. "If she sticks to my script, she'll get Gran to take Hugo and me. That way we'll get a little Burrow time several times a week all summer long. Gran knows all the magical tourist sites as well as anyone, but once she's got us she'll want to feed us and tell us tall Weasley tales and help me with my knitting. It's a riot."

"Rose," said Iolanthe. "When did you develop this…this…"

"Diabolical, cynical, underhanded…stop me when I hit the adjective you're looking for," Rose said.

"Stop!" Iolanthe demanded.

"Here's the thing," Rose said. "They've got jobs, Mum and Dad. They're interesting, I suppose, but they'll do them eight or ten hours a day. Hermione needs to go in on Saturday a surprising number of times. That leaves Hugo and me at home playing gobstones or spending days at your house or Fleur and Bill's, while Gran is knitting Weasley sweaters and waiting for Grandpa Arthur to get home. Mum and Dad hate to ask her to just take us every day, as if it were exploiting her, so we have this little conspiracy. I think it will work great."

Iolanthe stared at Rose, not knowing what, exactly, to think about her friend. Rose had so many facets.

"You're welcome to come over anytime you want," Iolanthe said. "You don't have to conspire, either."

"Of course, I know that," Rose said. "We'll probably take you up on it. Hugo and I just don't want to impose on anyone or wear out our welcome. With Gran that's impossible. We've been owling about it for months. Don't tell H. and R., please. They'd be mortified."

Iolanthe wanted to hug Rose so bad right then, but the library between them precluded it.

"I probably wouldn't die of boredom, as such, if you weren't here," Iolanthe speculated. "I'd go catatonic, though, and remain in a state."

"What kind of plans do you have?" Rose asked. "Aside from Scorpius' Black Picnic?"

"Oh, more documentation of the woodlanders, visiting the Mill, wresting Aunt Astoria from Uncle Draco and the wee bairn for some marathon _Odyssey_ readings," Iolanthe said. "James and Zelda need raising, and we are down to three months remaining before they start school and are lost to us. There is plenty to do."

"Here's an idea," Rose said. "If we were to get the first-years together, along with your cousin Tracey, once or twice a week…"

"Hmmm…" Iolanthe said, giving it some thought. "Perhaps with Grandmother."

"Now you're thinking," Rose said, dispensing some positive reinforcement. "We pool our resources, hoodwink the tykes into doing interesting stuff, throw ourselves at Tracey's feet for work on our advanced social skills and seminars on the latest eyebrow shaping and manicure techniques. We will devastate. Hogwarts won't know what hit it."

It was a good plan.

Rose and Iolanthe spent the first three days after their return from Hogwarts getting welcomed back into the bosom of their families. James and Zelda pestered Iolanthe with endless questions about Hogwarts. Some were angst-driven, like, did the sorting hat hurt while it was thinking? Others were surprisingly penetrating. Zelda was worried she wouldn't be picked for the study group and everyone would think she was dumb.

Tracey and Iolanthe both tried, but neither managed to fully alleviate her anxiety. When Wednesday came around, Daphne used some subtle techniques to get everyone out of #12 except Zelda.

"Gosh, Zelda," she said, when she realized they'd been left alone. "It's just us. Want to drink some tea?"

"I'd like that," Zelda said.

"Come on in the study, then," Daphne said. "Kreacher? A pot of tea and two cups in the study, please."

Kreacher had a tray and was putting it on the sideboard before Daphne and Zelda arrived.

"Thank-you, Kreacher, that will be all for now," Daphne said.

"Mistress," Kreacher muttered, backing out and closing the door.

Daphne poured a cup of tea, picked up the cup and saucer and put them on the side table next to Zelda's place on the settee. Putting her own on her desk, Daphne sat down.

"We haven't done this for a while," Daphne said. "Did you want sugar or lemon?"

"No thank-you," Zelda said. "I don't remember doing this before at all."

"I think you're right," Daphne said. "We'll make a point of sitting down for tea together, from today forward."

Harry, Daphne and Tracey had all agreed years before that it would be simpler to let Zelda call Harry and Daphne by their first names, and the same for Iolanthe and James in regard to Tracey.

"Daphne?" Zelda began, "Is there something wrong with me?"

"Not that I know of," Daphne said. "Why do you ask?"

"Lots of the witches you see in your study have problems," Zelda said, studying her tea.

"Ah," Daphne said. "Everyone has problems, Zelda. Everyone in the world has at least one problem. Nothing about having a problem guarantees there is anything wrong with the person who has it. If I have a disagreement with a colleague at work, we might both have a problem, but there isn't necessarily anything wrong with either of us. Now, the way you phrased your question makes me want to ask if you think there is something wrong with you. If you don't think that is any of my business, you are free to say so."

Daphne picked up her tea cup. She took her time, sipping a bit of tea, letting it linger on her tongue, swallowing, taking a bit more. Zelda felt the silence closing in.

"So…you didn't get rid of everyone in order to examine me?" Zelda asked. Daphne's conniving wasn't up to the task of fooling Zelda, that much was clear.

"Not at all," Daphne said. "I sensed, and only sensed, that there might be something you wanted to talk to me about, so this gives you the chance to bring it up. Of course, if my guess was wrong, we fall back on enjoying tea and conversation. Assuming you like those things."

"What if I'm not put in Slytherin?" Zelda burst out.

"Well, there, you see, is something you did want to talk about," Daphne said. "Do you know young witches and wizards worry about that all the time? I would not be surprised if that were not the most common thing that bothers young witches and wizards. So many go around worrying about their future house. What do you suppose happens when they're sorted?"

"They go to the house they were sorted into," Zelda said.

"Exactly," Daphne confirmed. "They go to their house, and the people who are already there make them feel welcome. They tell them a few things about their house history and traditions, and the next day they learn a little more, and the day after that, and the day after that. Before you know it, they're part of their house tradition, and it goes on from there."

"Bu-u-u-ut, Da-a-a-a-phne," Zelda belabored her words, drawing them out, "Dad, Mum, you and Astoria are all Slytherins. Iolanthe is in Slytherin, and Scorpius. Of course I want to be in Slytherin. It's the best."

Daphne considered Zelda's words.

"I can see why you'd think that, and thank-you for the compliment," Daphne said.

"Although, ranking the houses from best to worst might be only one way to think about it," Daphne went on. "Merlin was in Slytherin, and he was a great wizard and an advisor to King Arthur. That is very good for Slytherin. We're all quite proud to be associated with Merlin, as any witch or wizard would be. Of course, there are Slytherin witches and wizards who weren't Merlin-like at all. We aren't as proud of those. You know some very distinguished witches from other houses, though. What about Gryffindor?"

"They're a bunch of brawlers," Zelda sniffed.

"Are they?" Daphne said. "Where did you get that information?"

"From you and Mum," Zelda said.

Daphne turned crimson, and thought of chilly offshore breezes until she got the heat out of her cheeks.

"Well, Zelda," she tried. "Your mother and I can be a little unguarded when we're just talking between ourselves. When did you hear us making those comments?"

"Last summer, at the Manor. You were out on the patio. Mum said it was a good drying day, so you both went outside with Trix and your nail polish. I was coming out and you said 'Gryffindors' like you were over and done with the lot, and Mum said, 'Bunch of louts, brawlers,' and you said, 'Strangers to refinement, lacking in subtlety.'"

"Oh, well, there you go," Daphne said. "You caught us in some projection. That is what mental malady people call it when someone recognizes something in themselves they don't like, and instead of trying to correct it they call someone else out for that very thing. We were being a bit unkind in our gossiping and we projected that onto all Gryffindors. Now that you have brought that to my attention, I give you my word I will work on fixing it. That wasn't showing you a very nice side of myself, was it? I assure you I didn't want to lead you to develop prejudices."

"Is it the truth?" Zelda asked.

"Let's think about that for a minute," Daphne said. "You like to fly, I think it's safe to say. Who is the best flyer you know?"

"Harry is a great flyer," Zelda said. "I've seen Charley Weasley fly a few times, and he's pretty good. Ginny was a Harpy. I never saw her play, but people still talk about her. When I have seen her fly, she flew very well. Not as elegant as Harry."

"Well, but no one is, do you think?" Daphne observed. "Now, all those people you named are Gryffindors. You've gone to Seamus and Dean's with Tracey, haven't you? They've built a wonderful company that provides incredible service. They aren't lacking in refinement, far from it. Did you know Seamus and Dean are Gryffindors?"

Zelda pondered that.

"Gryffindor might be alright," Zelda allowed. "Were there people in your study group from Gryffindor?"

"There were witches from everywhere. All the houses were there. Rose's mother was in the group when your mother and I were, and she's a Gryffindor," Daphne said. "Study group is about studies. Houses don't enter into it at all. Just remember, when you get to Hogwarts, virtue is distributed across the houses, and the less desirable things as well.

"What is really so much more important than which house a person is in, is how they fit in the house. Do they bring their strengths? Do they identify and work on their weaknesses?" Daphne finished.

Zelda changed directions without any warning.

"What if I'm not picked for the study group, Daphne?" Zelda nearly exploded.

Daphne wasn't prepared for the sudden display of real anxiety. "You'll all think I'm dumb."

"Zelda," Daphne said, a little pleading in her voice. "I won't think you're dumb. Okay? I will never think you're dumb. Let's put that to rest.

"The study group starts in second year. You'll use your first year to find out if you want or need a study group. Do you like spending hours and hours going over your homework? Do you think you would like to finish with a textbook and go right on to find more materials on the same subject, just to learn more?"

Zelda looked down at the carpet as she wrestled with the questions Daphne asked.

"Are you feeling alright? Do you want to take a little more tea and go on to something else for now?"

Zelda handed her saucer and tea cup over to Daphne, watching while Daphne topped it up. When she got it back, Zelda lifted the cup from the saucer and took a little sip, then took another.

"You and Mum were in the study group. Hermione was, too. Iolanthe and Rose are in it now. If I don't get picked, I'll be the dumb one. Everyone will think so, too."

Daphne sat there looking at Zelda. She was such a puzzle. What was under all the anxiety, she wondered, over things that really oughtn't be of concern to someone so young?

"What do you know about the study group?" Daphne asked. Maybe if they looked, they could find the thorn in Zelda's paw.

"Smart witches get into the study group, and dumb ones don't," Zelda pronounced.

"Sounds logical enough," Daphne said. "Anyone would think that, wouldn't they? What do you like to study?"

"I like all of our subjects," said Zelda.

"You like the subject matter, or you like getting into the books and going over and over the material?" Daphne asked.

Zelda pondered Daphne's question.

"Here's the thing about study group, Zelda," Daphne tried. "People who like studying tend to end up needing a place to study. It has to be quiet. There can't be distractions, because that interrupts the studying and it takes time to get back to where we were before we got distracted. All the study group does is set aside a place for witches to go and study. Steady, sustained study of subjects that witches find interesting, or need to know."

Zelda thought about Daphne's explanation.

"Are there witches," she began, a little tentatively, "who aren't dumb, but don't go to study group?"

"Hmm…" Daphne began. "There's Auntie Millicent. She was in my year. She didn't go to study group. I don't remember if she was invited or not, but she is certainly not dumb. Defense Against the Dark Arts is one of the most challenging subjects in the magical curriculum."

"Ginny didn't come to study group, either. She's an editor, and had a great quidditch career," Daphne added. "Ginny had so much talent, she really didn't need study group."

Zelda pondered everything Daphne said.

"Is she a brawler?" Zelda asked.

Daphne managed to croak out "Oh, yes," through her laugh at Zelda's question. Madame Walburga had to exert herself to keep from laughing at the innocent way Zelda asked, remembering the accounts she'd heard of young Ginny's duels with her niece, the powerful, psychotic Bellatrix Lestrange.

"The thing is, Zelda, someone like Ginny is exactly the brawler you'd want to be around, as long as she was on your side," Daphne explained. "I'm ready for a scone, does a scone sound good to you? Kreacher?"

A scone sounded very good to Zelda, as it turned out. She had finally relaxed and sat with her back against the settee, feet nearly reaching the floor. Zelda broke her scone in half before taking a bite, then put the half scone back on the plate before picking up her tea cup.

"What do you have coming up for events?" Daphne asked, giving Zelda a little diversion from what was clearly difficult subject matter. Zelda proceeded to list something Tracey was working on every week from the conclusion of the Black Picnic until mid-August.

"Why did you study so much?" Zelda asked, returning to their previous topic.

"There were many very good reasons to keep studying when we went to Hogwarts, Zelda," Daphne began.

"The future looked quite uncertain at the time," Daphne said, "so your mother, Astoria and I stayed focused on our studies and stayed away from the conflict as much as we could. Then I studied some more to qualify as a healer, then I went to muggle university to learn some more about medicine and psychology. That led to St. Mungo's and the mental maladies staff."

Zelda sat, nibbling the edge of a scone half.

"Was it hard?" she asked.

"It was hard, but I refused to be intimidated by hard," Daphne replied. "I'm going to tell you something about myself that I had to be older, and a lot wiser, than I was at Hogwarts, to understand. You might discover it for yourself someday, but I'm going to tell you what it was, right now.

"I don't know if I learned to be this way or if I was born with it, but I will turn my face to what is hard, and I will not let difficulty defeat me. The problem may be beyond my ability to solve but I will keep working on it. Hard won't beat me. It might make me cry in frustration, but it won't beat me. You can find that in yourself, too, Zelda. I know you can. Look what is hard in the face and go to work. Make that a habit and you won't need a study group, you won't need this or that house."

Zelda sat nibbling, the scone almost gone.

"I see why the witches want to visit you and drink tea," Zelda said, looking for crumbs to pick up with her finger tips and drop back on the little plate that had held the scone.

"Oh, anyone is welcome to come by for a little tea and conversation," Daphne said. "Especially you. In ten or twenty years you'll be right where I am now, benefiting from conversation with a young person. It's me that gets something from you when we talk. Can you understand what I'm saying? I talk to people my age all the time so I'm saying and hearing all the same things, like a big circle. I work my mouth, the words go out, go into ears and out another mouth, and I hear the same thing I just said.

"You, on the other hand, bring me your version of what you see, what you hear, what you feel, and what you think. It's so original. That's some valuable stuff!"

For the first time in their conversation, Zelda laughed out loud.

"Anything else you'd like to talk about?" Daphne asked. "Before next time?"

"Not that I can think of," Zelda said. "Thank-you for the tea and scone."

She slid off the settee and crossed to the door, plenty of bounce in her eleven-year-old stride.

"She's so smart," Daphne thought to herself, as Zelda did the same.

"I could see another Slytherin in her," Walburga's portrait said, waiting to express her opinion, for once, until the subject had exited.

"She's a puzzle," Daphne replied. "She can be pushy enough, so a little work on channeling that wouldn't be a bad thing. She flies like a young Harry, so if she wants to develop that, there could be another Gryffindor quidditch star inside her. Her academics are consistently good. In a year or two she might need something like Scorpius' Merlin project. Ravenclaw would love to have her. She's used to getting lots of love and attention, so there's Hufflepuff."

Daphne heard 'WHOOSH' from the salon.

"Mum!" Zelda's voice came down the corridor.

"Yep!" Tracey said. "My client approved everything, so I'm going to try to get to Seamus and Dean's this afternoon. You're invited, of course, but I think, perhaps, something a little more businesslike? And a trip to the bathroom for a splash to the face and hands? That looks like a cracker crumb."

"It was a scone," Zelda said. "Daphne invited me for tea."

"Oooh, what a treat," Tracey said. "We have to keep moving if we want to do this today, so face and hands then business attire. The blue dress with the white collar would be perfect."

Tracey and Daphne watched Zelda race up the stairs before stepping back into the study.

"You got the job?" Daphne asked.

Tracey reached in her satchel and pulled out two sheets of parchment.

"Contract. Signed," she said.

Daphne pulled Tracey to her and gave her a hug.

"Businesswoman," Daphne said.

"Who would have thought?" Tracey asked. "Magical event planner? We never knew events needed planning, they were just something that happened. You know what started this, don't you? That engagement party for Astoria and Draco. Every witch who got engaged for the next two years wanted a party like Astoria's.

"I helped people for free for years after that, just for fun. I had no idea there was a need and enough work to keep a person busy full-time. Now I've had to take on an assistant."

The assistant popped back into the study. With her freshening-up complete, Zelda was ready to do some business.

"How are we going?" she asked.

"Floo," said Tracey. "Look out for soot."

That evening, after they'd gotten the children tucked in, Tracey asked Daphne if they could go back to the study and close the door.

"There's no easy way to say it," Tracey began. "So I'll just start. You and Harry gave Zelda and me a wonderful gift, Daphne, but I think it is time we moved out. You housed and fed us when I didn't have the means, but now I do. I need to establish a household."

"Not on our account, you don't," Daphne said. "You're feeling a need though. I can tell."

Tracey looked down and didn't say anything.

Daphne knew Tracey better than she knew any of her other friends. She knew her better than she knew Astoria, and much better than she knew Harry.

"There's something else?"

Tracey raised her head and met Daphne's gaze.

"A remark today, in a meeting. An ignorant remark from someone who doesn't know any better. I've heard it all before, of course. Something about the way they said it today just got to me. The implicit assumption I'm a serial mistress, or Blaise and Harry share me, or veiled references to what we all get up to in our free time," Tracey said.

"Ahhh…" Daphne said. "I can't argue with you about that. Those are really ill-informed, judgmental people with no basis for their comments, but what are you going to do? I get it, too, you might remember."

"Well, sure, but he's your husband," Tracey said.

"And, if they think Blaise and Harry are sharing you, doesn't that mean I'm sharing my husband with you? Is that different?" Daphne asked, genuinely interested in Tracey's perspective. That is a hazard of being a close friend of a mental maladies professional. They might be running a study on you whenever you open your mouth.

Tracey thought it over, but she couldn't come up with an answer.

"Look, Tracey," Daphne tried. "You're my oldest friend, I've known you longer than Astoria. Harry and I talk through this nonsense whenever it comes up. He likes to have the extra adult around, Zelda is completely integrated into the family and sees James as a kind of twin. You do more to manage the houses and our family life than either Harry or me. We love you both. Harry won't come out and say it, of course. You got his attention when you told him about our deal."

Tracey laughed, stopped, and started up again.

"Aha. Did he tell you about the owl?" Tracey asked.

"Your owl did figure, yes," Daphne said. "After a discreet interval, naturally. Of several years."

Tracey leaned back, laced her fingers and hands behind her head and looked at the ceiling.

"I really did say that," Tracey confessed. "I guess it would have been true, then, but the owl would be redundant today, wouldn't it?"

No one said anything very articulate. Instead, Tracey and Daphne took a short break from conversation for snickers and giggles.

"Tracey, I had a little talk with Zelda," Daphne said, when they got back to communicating adult-to-adult. "She has a lot of anxiety built up over house selection and the study group. I think we got to agreement on the house. I'm sure she'd still prefer Slytherin but I got her to admit the other houses have their good points as well. She's also afraid she won't be invited to the study group and that will mean she's unintelligent. I explained first year is when a witch finds out if she wants to study enough to need the group.

"I'm not sure she understood. If it comes up, could I suggest something? Just reassure her she's smart and we know she's smart, and if she loves to study, it will all work out, group or no group."

"Now, the other thing," Daphne continued. "If you want to do it before she leaves for Hogwarts, please take the flat for now. Treat us like we're clear across town and you see us occasionally. I won't belabor it, but the truth is, I'd rather you wait."

"Any particular reason?" Tracey asked.

"Of course, I wouldn't have an opinion otherwise," Daphne told her. "Zelda is anxious enough now, without adding distancing from her family to those very real concerns, we are all used to there being three adults participating in schedules and child raising, and James and Iolanthe count on you being here. After all this time, you and Zelda are family to us. Nuclear family, Tracey, not some wishy-washy distant cousin we see every couple of years. At this point, it will be the next thing to a parent leaving for Iolanthe and James both. The Hogwarts Express is three months away."

"Deal," Tracey said. "You're our leader. I have to do as you ask or leave the tribe and become an outcast."

"Our leader," Daphne repeated. "'OUR' is whom, then?"

"Oh, Astoria and me," Tracey began, "Millicent, and she brings Ginny, who didn't need a lot of persuading, Pansy Parkinson might resist but just for show, Hannah Abbott, who credits the Longbottoms' recovery to your laying on of hands, Iolanthe, of course, who channels you in her sleep, plus whatever followers she has locked down. Word is it's a considerable number, particularly for a second year."

"Piffle," Daphne said.

"Suit yourself," Tracey sniffed, "I'm just the concubine."

They were up before everyone else the next morning, benefiting from a good night's sleep. It was a perfect day for breakfasting in the townhouse garden so Tracey and Daphne took advantage of the privacy to revisit their discussion, this time with fresh minds.

"Grimmauld Place is our base, and Harry built Potter Manor for several reasons, very complicated, too much to get into now. That leaves the flat and the Black estate," Daphne said. "There is also the Mill, but I don't think you could get that on an indefinite basis, because everyone likes their getaways too much."

"Don't I have to ask Harry?" Tracey asked. "They're his properties."

"Oh, I think the two of us could make a successful pitch," Daphne said. "One of the problems Harry realizes he has is the properties are actually excess to our needs. He hangs on to the flat because it's convenient and perfect for putting up guests or people we need to house for a spell and need a bit more than a hotel room. Every time he gets ready to sell it, it comes in handy for something.

"He keeps the Black estate for two big events a year and a few Cornwall weekends for the family. It might be perfect for you and Zelda. She'll be at Hogwarts for much of the year, and you don't have to be in London. You're out of town negotiating or putting on a production more than you're here now."

"Very thoughtful, Daphne," Tracey said. "Let me think it over and we'll talk again."

They agreed to hold any major moves in abeyance, at least until after Scorpius' birthday and the Black Picnic at the end of June. Iolanthe, Scorpius and Rose were big draws for the Hogwarts Blacks, and attendance was as good as it had ever been. The trenchers were set up in the shade of two large oaks. Fish and chips, and pasties, had displaced all the other main dishes, with garden salad and fresh fruit completing the menu.

Harry's pre-lunch remarks included recognition of the students present, and a kind word or two about each of the houses, and how he knew from the late headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black that the Blacks then at Hogwarts were adding to the luster of the House of Black with their accomplishments and low-key family cohesion across house boundaries. He thanked them for their efforts, assured them they were noticed, and predicted continuing success in their chosen fields, getting a generous round of applause for the scholars from the other attendees.

"As long as you recognize the inherent superiority of Slytherin, Lord Harry," said one partisan after lunch. "In keeping with the good taste shown by Lady Daphne, and your honorable daughter…"

The Slytherin cousin had just departed when Rose arrived.

"You weren't intending to slight Gryffindor with your equal treatment of the houses, I know, Uncle Harry," said Rose as she walked up alongside Harry, Hugo in hand. Harry wasn't really their uncle but they liked to claim him, and he appreciated the honorific.

"Well," Harry muttered, leaning toward Rose so he could keep his voice low, "I don't know about you, but when it came to houses, it always seemed to me like there was Gryffindor, and then there were the others. Is that your experience?"

"True, so very true," said Rose. She looked around before adding, "Poor things."

"Hence my caution at these multi-house affairs," Harry went on. "Walking through life with the confidence one can gain only through living according to the Gryffindor principles, it would be easy to trample feelings and alienate the less fortunate. That would be bad, because we still need them to do things for us."

"My life began in earnest when the sorting hat said, 'Gryffindor,'" Rose confided, breaking away. "You're talked about around the common room fireplace. Can I quote you?"

"I have complete confidence in your best judgment," Harry said.

The beautiful weather held throughout the day. There was plenty of bright sunshine, Teddy had the grounds looking their best, the temperature stayed in the moderate range, and all the Blacks roamed freely or found shady spots for relaxed conversations.

Andromeda and Narcissa gravitated together once again, taking their seats on the marble bench. Teddy found a comfortable chair for Astoria and put it next to Narcissa. The conversation must have been stimulating because it wasn't long before the three had a buffer zone of witches all around them. Some were Black cousins themselves and remembered Walburga, and pretty soon the witches who had married into the Blacks were getting serial lessons in Black knowledge based on Narcissa and Andromeda's tales of Walburga's wrath, as meted out by her inexhaustible inventory of jinxes and hexes. The stories stayed in the hilarious zone, in keeping with a late June picnic in Cornwall.

Astoria stayed with the sisters as long as they held court. Genuinely fond of her mother-in-law, Astoria considered her role in the reconciliation to be one of her most significant life achievements, in second place after conceiving and giving birth to Scorpius.

Daphne always kept an eye on Astoria at big events. Astoria tired easily, and as she grew older she began to have a harder time bouncing back.

"How are you doing, Baby Sister?" Daphne asked as she bent over Astoria.

"I'm getting such an education today," Astoria said. "Mother left so much out of our youngster curriculum. This needs to be preserved!"

"We may have one of those quills in the house," Daphne said, "The ones that take dictation."

"With all these Ministry types around? They'd confiscate the notes and the Unspeakables would be the only ones who'd ever see them again," said Astoria. "Better to stick to word of mouth. Before long we'll have ourselves a legend."

"Have you noticed legends are becoming commonplace around here?" Daphne asked. "I feel deeply for the next generation. They'll have to expend a great deal of energy to emerge from the pack."

Astoria followed Daphne's gaze around the lawn, Teddy's gardens and the shady arbor with its broad leaves and beginnings of bunches of grapes. Teddy and Victoire stood talking with Fabio before a patch of bananas Teddy had coaxed into residing happily in Cornwall. Scorpius was listening to an eminent historian go on about magical influences on Mallory, his face a frown as he tried to memorize the references he would need to look up as soon as he got back to a decent library. Rose and Iolanthe were on a blanket with a circle of soon-to-be first-years, talking about houses and menus, wands and potions, the giant squid and merpeople.

"Daphne, you know I almost never disagree with my chieftain sister, but on this one occasion, I think I just might," Astoria said. "So many of us were ground up and spit out by the war, we might have botched the job completely, but look at them. I think they're ready right now to carry it on."

"Oh, they're quite capable," Daphne agreed, up to a point. "We keep running up the score on them, though, don't we? We aren't done yet."

Astoria smiled, then reached up and squeezed Daphne's hand.

"I don't suppose so," Astoria concluded.


	24. Chapter 24

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Twenty-Four

And There Are All Kinds of Turning

"Grandmother, can I come through?"

"Scorpius?" Kendra asked. "Of course, we're all here."

Scorpius arrived in the Greengrass Manor library with the usual 'WHOOSH!'

Iolanthe and Rose looked up. Scorpius said 'Hullo' to Iolanthe.

"Hullo, Rose," Scorpius said, adding a slight smile.

"Scorpius," they returned, together.

A scream came from out in the central hallway just outside the library door.

Iolanthe jumped up.

"I'll get it," she told Kendra, and left for the hallway.

Hugo, James Greengrass, and Zelda had outgrown the play brooms on which they'd all learned to fly. Strictly speaking, as unqualified wizards, and witch, not at school, they shouldn't have been flying at all. What spared them the ministry's harsh discipline was the magic was confined to the house, as long as they flew around inside, where there were qualified witches. Any objectionable magical leakage from underage flying would get lost in all the legitimate magic of Greengrass Manor.

Harry had acquired some very tame brooms of the Hogwart's academic variety. He invited Zelda and James, and whomever else was interested, to go ahead and fly, as long as they observed the house rules. Zelda, it became apparent, had been nursing some very unrealistic expectations in regard to her first real broom, and it had taken some counseling to get her through her personal crisis. Tracey had tried to explain how an adult broom, particularly a performance model of the Nimbus or Firebolt variety, would make a young, inexperienced witch a danger to herself and others. Zelda exhibited great disappointment, all the way to the threshold of invoking deep personal hurt, that her mother, of all people, doubted her well-demonstrated abilities.

Tracey played the Blaise card, briefing him well, and in advance, of the use he was to make of his injury, which had ended one career and still affected his physical abilities. Blaise made the most of his tale of how he had lost the first love of his life, the infantry, when he could no longer meet her standards. He did not want to go through that again, vicariously, with the current love, Zelda Daphne Davis, who could easily find herself outflying her own abilities on a hot broom. He even used his theory that Fortuna had taken pity on him when she'd snatched the army away, and gave him luck once more, Zelda being the living evidence.

When Zelda still couldn't be convinced, Tracey turned over her ace. Everyone was at Potter Manor, including Ginny and Millicent. Tracey went up to Ginny and Millicent's room and knocked.

"Tracey," she said, "Can I come in?"

"Sure," said two voices from inside.

Ginny and Millicent were sitting by the window that looked out over the patio, the fields on the downslope, and the treed course of the Dart at the bottom. Ginny was embroidering something on a piece of linen clamped in a stretcher. One foot was resting on a towel laid across Millicent's knees, and Millicent was busily buffing Ginny's toenails with a little block.

Tracey gave the job a once-over, her eyes well-schooled by two decades of nail connoisseurship.

"Hmmm…" Tracey said, nodding approval.

"She's all booked for today, sorry," Ginny advised.

"Ah, none of that for me, I'm afraid," Tracey said, wiggling her fingers. "I had a fun hour of solitary Tracey time after Zelda went to sleep last night. I do have some actual business, though."

Tracey sat down and proceeded to explain her problem to Ginny and Millicent, drawing on Zelda's talking points.

These were: She was old enough; She was good enough; She had to practice; She'd be expected to fly something hot if she made the house team. Tracey concluded with hers, and Blaise', negative results.

"Okay," Ginny said. "Tomorrow morning, right after breakfast. Bring them all, that way Zelda won't feel singled out."

Iolanthe left the library of Greengrass Manor prepared to invoke Ginny's Potter Manor flying lesson to calm down some young flyers who thought they were more skilled than reality would support. She had to throw out her plan as soon as she stepped out into the hallway.

"Grandmother!" Iolanthe called. "I think you'd better come out here!"

Kendra stepped out of the library, into the hallway. She followed Iolanthe's gaze up through the penetration made by the great staircase through the first floor ceiling, to the second floor ceiling. Hovering up there, a good twenty feet, or more, above the lowest step of the stairs, was James Greengrass Potter. He should have been on a broom, but his broom hovered beside him, appearing to be ready for use but not needed, at least not just now. James was laughing heartily at everyone's distress and confusion.

"James," Kendra called, "Could you just get back on the broom for now? It would give us all a very good feeling if you would."

Scorpius and Rose had joined Iolanthe and Kendra and stood looking up as well. Rose started making pantomime motions to Hugo, encouraging him to fly down to the first floor in a civilized fashion, but he was just as mesmerized by James' broomless flying as everyone else.

Asked nicely, James saw reason and reached for his broom, brought it up under his seat, and descended, very gently, down the stairs. He came to a stop in the foyer, put his feet down, and dismounted. Hugo and Zelda were right behind him.

"I'm thinking it's patio time," Kendra announced. "Fresh lemonade all around."

Iolanthe kept her eyes on Kendra, in case there were orders.

"If you could get the brooms put away…" Kendra said, letting the rest of the sentence go.

Scorpius stayed to help with brooms while everyone else followed Kendra through the house to the patio. They looked like they were having so much fun even Raffles, who was ancient, for a Bichon, joined the procession.

James had managed to disturb the peace of the realm, because broom riding had been downright sedate among the Potter-Greengrass-Davis set, ever since Ginny's flying lessons at Potter Manor. Ginny had brought out her Firebolt and two sets of gloves, two helmets and knee pads. She started with a short safety talk, then she described what she would be doing. Firebolts were more than powerful enough to provide one adult and one eleven-year-old with a thrilling ride. Ginny finished up her pre-flight talk with a request:

"If you feel like you have to be sick and we don't have time to get down, just remember to grip and lean. Grip and lean. Just get your head out and down and let it go. Okay?"

With that, she started taking young folks up on a Firebolt.

After demonstrating climbing, descending, and level flight, Ginny spoke into Zelda's ear.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Yes!" Zelda shouted, and Ginny took her hands off the broomstick.

Zelda promptly took them into a tight ascending spiral.

"Try level flight first," Ginny advised.

Zelda over-corrected and brought the nose up, stalled, and leaned forward, putting the broom into a dive. She again hauled back on the broomstick and brought the nose up. This time, she anticipated the broom's tendency to keep putting its nose into a higher and higher angle, and thought "Level, level."

The broom slowed and leveled off, generating a sudden feeling of stopping and hovering, before the broom and its two riders began a slow, flat descent. Zelda's stomach wasn't prepared for any of this, and she had to lean over and lose her breakfast.

"Much better," Ginny said, "Let's stay with level flight for a bit longer. Lean forward and we'll get a little momentum, and keep it level."

Zelda leaned forward and the Firebolt took off. Ginny had anticipated Zelda's excessive move and had a good grip on the broomstick with one hand, and the opposite arm around Zelda's waist, or Zelda would have had the Firebolt fly right out from under her.

"Little moves, until you get the feel," Ginny said in Zelda's ear. "Sit up, a little at a time."

The Firebolt was whistling as it passed through the air, the pitch getting higher with each incremental increase in speed. Zelda began sitting up, initially in little jerky stages, which were reflected in quick and brutal drops in speed. She began to get the feel of it, though, and before long she was doing controlled accelerations and decelerations according to Ginnie's instructions. Gradually they got lower and lower, and went slower and slower, until they sat on the Firebolt, hovering, Zelda handling the broom solo.

"An-n-n-d, down, please," Ginny said, and Zelda lowered the broom the few inches between their feet and the ground.

"And that is a Firebolt," Ginny said. "How do you feel?"

"Dizzy, a little sick," Zelda said, "But great!"

"Don't be surprised if it takes you a few minutes to get over that," Ginny said. "It's very common, among novice flyers, and some people never get over it. I'm sure you will. You made some real progress. You've got a future on a broom. You do see why we put in the hours on the lower-performance models, though, don't you? There were some iffy moments up there. That's why I didn't turn you loose on a Firebolt by yourself."

Zelda picked up on 'hours' and zeroed in.

"How many hours? On the slow brooms?" Zelda asked.

"Until you can do all the common things," Ginny said. "Mount the broom and fly a slalom course of 100 meters or so, turn around and fly back, between three feet and five feet above ground. Fly figure eight courses of various lengths at slow, medium and fast speeds. You can also do like I did, fly old, slow brooms and play pickup quidditch with your brothers all summer long. By the time I got access to a better ride, I'd had hundreds and hundreds of hours on those old brooms, so switching to the upgrade was just a matter of getting accustomed to the speed and responsiveness. Most important, though, is this: If you're going to make a mistake, make it going slow. The injuries are so much easier to fix."

Ginny got through to Zelda at some point, because that was the end of the discussion about faster brooms. After Ginny's familiarization flight, Zelda kept flying inside the manors, when she had to, and volunteered to be a flying companion to any adult who was feeling the need to get out and fly, anytime, day or night.

James' broomless flying gave everyone quite a jolt. Kendra kept everyone occupied with iced tea and lemonade on the patio while steering the conversation toward Zelda's latest business ventures with Tracey, Teddy's gardening projects, and what classes the third-years would be taking in September. She didn't want a general discussion of broomless flight until she'd had a chance to go over what had happened with Harry and Daphne. Unaided flight was a magical phenomenon, and, as such, simply something James discovered in himself and learned to control. The last group known to have used it extensively, though, were Voldemort and the Death Eaters.

"How is your mother, Scorpius?" Kendra asked.

"She's still tired," Scorpius said. "The Black Picnic. She'll need a little extra sleep for a day or two more."

Kendra made another mental note. If Astoria didn't make an appearance in the next twenty-four hours, she'd discuss a house call with Healer Daphne.

Harry and Daphne weren't swamped, but they were keeping busy. The first week of July was full of little, but important, distractions. Harry had a lunch at a muggle club with his muggle opposite number, which generated two new to-do lists for their respective organizations. Daphne presided over what amounted to a conference spread over a week of mental malady seminars, presenting one research paper and sitting on a panel at another session.

By the end of the week, Astoria had made two visits to Greengrass Manor. She'd seemed bright and energetic enough, but Kendra could not help feeling something was a little off. She shared her concern with Daphne, and they decided to invite Astoria to the Mill for lunch and conversation.

Astoria was always ready for anything involving the Mill, the Mill having been key to a number of major Astoria life events. Daphne arrived first, enjoying the walk from Potter Manor. She opened the front door and some windows to bring in the fresh air, then went outside to sit on the bench by the door.

Astoria arrived, flooing direct from Malfoy Manor, and joined Daphne on the bench. Fairies started flying around Astoria's head, the tiny lights coalescing into a crown.

"Hullo, how are the fairies?" Astoria greeted them.

The fairies took their time answering.

"The fairies are well," said the voice that spoke for the fairies. "How is Astoria?"

"Just fine," Astoria said, "Thank-you for asking."

There was another conversational gap before the fairies responded.

"The fairies are very happy Astoria is well."

Kendra came into sight, walking down the path past the millstone, where the first fairies began to find her, and swirl around her head.

Kendra went through some reciprocal greetings along the lines of Astoria's, then joined her daughters on the bench.

"I hope you have crickets for the trout," Astoria said.

"There should be," said Daphne as she got up. "Let me look."

"How are you doing, Astoria? We've been worried about you," Kendra said.

"Don't," said Astoria. "Daphne and her colleagues have done everything they can. Lucius is the premier potion maker in Britain. Daphne says 'Make this,' and Lucius makes it for me, perfect, every time."

"We're just concerned, dear," said Kendra. "If you need anything, just tell us."

Daphne arrived with the jar of crickets.

"Come on, Mother, let's feed fish," Astoria said. They took the jar of dried crickets to the mill pond. As soon as their silhouettes began to stand out against the July sky, movement began deep in the pond. The trout circled the pond, coming closer to the surface. Astoria flicked one of the crickets off her fingertip into the center of the pond, where it floated for a second or less before a massive trout grabbed it and rolled over, turning its speckled belly up in a kind of thank-you.

"Mother wants something done, Daphne," Astoria said, dipping fingers into the jar for another cricket.

"Of course she does," Daphne said. "So do I. So does everyone."

"The truth is, you've done everything you can," Astoria continued. "I've been fortunate. It's very rare for anyone born with a blood curse like mine to live as long as I have. Long enough to get married. Carrying Scorpius and giving birth ought to have killed me. He's thirteen. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Daphne and Kendra watched the trout rolling just under the surface of the pond. Kendra stretched out her arm and wrapped it around Astoria's waist.

"What I'm getting at is, I've lived a lifetime," Astoria said. She launched another cricket toward the pond. It arced and fell, right into the mouth of the trout that broke the surface to catch it.

"I haven't missed out on anything. Don't let anyone go around saying, 'So sad, she was so young.' That's mistaking time for life," said Astoria. "Look out for Draco. I've been over all of this with him, but he doesn't take it very well. I think he understands. He'll still want to rant and rave and curse the tide. Don't let it go on too long.

"If one of us had to have it, I'm glad it was me. My personality was perfect. I'm not one for long-term plans, like Daphne," Astoria said. "I'm still getting everything I can out of every day I'm here. I have no complaints."

By now Kendra's eyes were running a steady stream.

"Is Iolanthe doing anything tomorrow?" Astoria asked. "She wanted to get together and read _The Odyssey_. I'll meet her here and we'll do it, if she's free. She can owl or floo-call.

"Now, was I promised there would be a free lunch provided if I came over?" Astoria finished.

Daphne called out to Periwinkle, who appeared in the dooryard with a 'pop.'

"Lady Daphne," said Periwinkle, a form of address she'd picked up, apparently, from Kreacher.

"Periwinkle, we're ready for lunch, plus whatever Mother and Astoria would like to drink," Daphne said. "Mineral water for me, please. It's so nice outside today, could we have the table set under the arbor?"

Kendra and Astoria also asked for mineral water. Periwinkle had the table and chairs set up with some finger snaps. She left while the little group moved over to the arbor, and was soon back with a tray of sandwiches and three small green salads. It was a very nice day for an _al fresco_ lunch under a shady arbor. Kendra started out barely able to chew and swallow, but a few bites led to a few more, and before she knew it she was enjoying lunch and conversation with some agreeable Slytherin witches.

"How are you doing, Mother?" asked Astoria.

"Much better, dear," Kendra said. "The day, the Mill, the company…"

"Lunch," Astoria said, before biting into half a tomato, avocado and lettuce sandwich on toasted pumpernickel. "Periwinkle?"

The elf materialized at Astoria's elbow.

"Mistress Astoria," she said, "Periwinkle is here."

"I'd like a glass of white wine, please, and the ladies might want to think about it as well," Astoria said.

Kendra looked at Daphne, who shrugged.

"What harm…?" Daphne asked.

"White wines for everyone, Periwinkle," Daphne said.

The wine was there in no time, chilled, the bottle wrapped in a napkin. Periwinkle placed the tray with the wine and three glasses on the table under the arbor.

"Thank-you, Periwinkle. Let's just see," Astoria said, more to herself than to Kendra and Daphne. She picked up the bottle of wine and stepped away from the table. Tipping the bottle over, she poured some wine out onto the ground. One glug, two glugs, then she turned it back upright. Astoria returned to the arbor and poured three glasses of a very nice white wine, just the thing for a ladies' picnic lunch on a fine day in July.

Astoria heard the stag before she saw it. The same snap of a well-dried twig presaged the stag moving into the open on the edge of the clearing.

"Oh!" Kendra said. "Where did you come from?"

They barely remembered to breathe while the stag walked, quite deliberately, across the open space to the arbor, where it stopped and stood looking at Astoria. She reached out and the stag lowered his head, so Astoria touched her fingers to his poll and let them rest there. When the stag stood still, Astoria began scratching the poll, then moved to an ear, down under the jaw, to his throat, which she treated to long strokes from the chin nearly down to the brisket.

Astoria slowed her rubbing of the stag's neck and looked at his eyes as the stag held her gaze. She didn't blink or look away as she leaned forward slowly and kissed him on his muzzle.

"Thank you for coming," she said.

The stag stepped backwards, raising his head, looked at Kendra, then Daphne, then turned and walked toward the stream. When he got a few yards distant, he burst into a sprint, straight for the creek. He leapt from the near bank, his forelegs tucked up, while he held his hind legs out in the position they'd taken when he'd launched. Time seemed to stop while the stag hung, suspended, above the water. He cleared the stream with plenty of distance to spare and sprinted for the tree line.

Astoria leaned against the back of her chair. She combed her chestnut hair back with her fingers, feeling the hair with her fingertips covered in the oil from the stag's coat. She tipped her glass back and took a sip of white wine, then put it down on the table next to her plate.

A little finger of mist rolled over the top of the stream bank and toward the arbor, thickening and spreading out as it moved.

"Wha…" Daphne began, but Kendra's hand was on top of her forearm before she could finish. Daphne looked at Kendra, who didn't take her eyes off Astoria, except to follow Astoria's gaze toward the mist that kept moving and getting denser. Kendra started to reach for her wand. Astoria caught the movement.

"Mm-mm," she said, shaking her head a little.

When the mist arrived it filled the space under the arbor, giving everything solid an opalescent cast, as if all were infused with the same magical qualities of the mother-of-pearl-lined shells of crustaceans.

"Artemis?" Astoria called out. Daphne looked at Kendra, who looked back, before both turned their heads toward Astoria.

A woman walked out of the mist. She wore a short tunic and sandals, a quiver of arrows hung from a broad shoulder strap, and she carried a bow. The dog that walked beside her walked straight up to Astoria and nuzzled her hand.

"Do you want to smell the stag?" she asked. "Artemis, may I present my mother, Lady Kendra, and my sister, Lady Daphne? Mother, Daphne, this is Artemis. THE Artemis. We met in Butrint."

Artemis pulled out a chair and sat down. Her dog sat on his haunches beside Astoria, who continued to stroke his head.

"Is this Cerberus?" Astoria asked.

Artemis smiled.

"No, he's just one of my dogs. Here," Artemis said. Astoria looked and noticed a pheasant hanging by its legs from a brass ring attached to Artemis' quiver. Artemis got the feet out of the ring and held the pheasant up by its legs. She handed the pheasant to Astoria.

"I shot it earlier, and took it to Father, but he sent me to you with it. He said you and your family should have it, as a gift. Have your servant hang it up for a few hours before roasting and the meat will be tender. There is enough for everyone."

Artemis looked directly into Astoria's eyes.

"I understand," Astoria said. She wrapped the pheasant in a napkin and laid it on her plate, ready to summon an elf to take it to Malfoy Manor. "Please tell your father we are all very grateful for everything."

"You're Kendra," Artemis said, "And you're Daphne. Astoria is already a legend at home. We don't have a lot to do these days except feast and recite the great tales. Everyone loves brave Astoria, even my stepmother. New stories are rare, and stories as beautiful as hers stand alone."

Artemis stood, pulled Astoria to her, and put her cheek against the top of Astoria's head. The dog stayed with Astoria until Artemis had walked nearly out of the mist, when she whistled once, and the dog bounded off.

The mist dispersed with no further fuss or bother. One moment Artemis was a faint presence, walking toward the stream, and the next she was gone, and the mist with her.

"Artemis," Astoria said, tilting her head toward the route Artemis had taken as she walked away.

Kendra and Daphne, both highly-skilled, extremely well-educated and experienced witches, were speechless. Daphne looked at Kendra, whose knowledge was so broad and deep Daphne knew, with certainty, that she would never grasp how knowledgeable and powerful her mother was. Kendra looked at Daphne, expecting her healer daughter with the muggle degrees to open a conversation for them both.

Daphne found her voice first.

"Astoria," she said, "do you mean that was Artemis, from Olympus? Zeus' daughter?"

"Uh-huh," Astoria said. "She was in Butrint and we ran into each other and I confided my plan to get pregnant and give Draco an heir. She was very honest with me. How I would be hurting my prospects for a longer life if I got pregnant and gave birth. She had a lot to do with pregnancy and childbirth in the old days, so I thought it couldn't hurt to ask for a little help. She was very gracious. Then she saw us back in Durres and she had already talked to her father about Draco and me. I understand they like our story. I got my Homer addiction from her. She said the best model for mortals is Odysseus, so read a little Homer every day. Now I've passed that on to Iolanthe, and the wheel keeps turning."

Astoria smiled and turned her face to the sun.

"Could I get you to come to St. Mungo's…" Daphne began, trying one more time.

"No," Astoria said. "There is no longer any point. You and your colleagues have been angels, Daphne, but without breaking the curse, the wheel will turn. There are all kinds of wheels, and that's their nature. They turn. Draco and I were alone, the wheel turned and we found one another. It turned some more and we gave ourselves the gift of Scorpius. I suspect we started him right in there, as a matter of fact. That is what we learn from Odysseus. The turning goes on, and on, and on. If we fear the turn of the wheel, we forget the purpose of creation."

A foot crunched on gravel. Everyone looked toward the sound. Iolanthe Astoria was walking past the wooden bench by the old millstone, her canvas satchel hanging by her side, the strap crossing from one shoulder to the opposite hip. Iolanthe wore jeans, sandals, and a canvas short-sleeved shirt with two large patch pockets for the wearer's choice of any number of handy tools for daily life.

Iolanthe walked straight to Kendra and kissed her cheek, then to Daphne, kissing her.

She bent over Astoria and hugged her, then kissed her cheek, then she hugged her again.

"What's this?" she asked, indicating the pheasant. "Have you been hunting?"

That got a laugh out of all the other witches.

"No, it was a gift," Astoria said. "Long story. It's got to go to Malfoy Manor and get hung up. We'll roast it and make it a side dish tonight.

"Change of subject," Astoria continued. "How about some _Odyssey_ reading tomorrow? Here? Anytime during the day?"

"Anytime," Iolanthe confirmed. "Right after breakfast?"

"For me, that is about ten," Astoria laughed. "Ten it is."


	25. Chapter 25

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Twenty-Five

Counting Is Not Living

"Why don't you sit down, dear?"

Kendra reached over and pulled out the fourth chair, where Artemis had just been sitting, so Iolanthe could sit.

"Thank-you, Grandmother," Iolanthe said, taking her seat as she pulled her canvas satchel around to her lap. "Anyone have plans?"

"Enjoying good company," Daphne said. "That's about it."

Iolanthe nodded.

"Rose?" Kendra asked.

"The Burrow. Rose and Hugo had an appointment," Iolanthe said. "She's discovered a passion for knitting, so you can guess who her enabler is."

"Is that a match made in heaven?" Astoria asked.

"If ever there were one," Kendra. "You didn't bring James?"

"I offered. Father trumped me with a father-and-son flying session. Zelda is multi-tasking the management of several events, with her apprentice Tracey."

"What have you observed today?" Astoria asked.

"There isn't much moving around besides birds. A few snakes are sunning themselves. I saw a kite overhead. Look for nests, everyone, okay? If they're nesting nearby that will require many hours of observation," Iolanthe said.

"How about some tea?" Daphne asked. "Iced or hot?"

"Sure," Astoria said. Kendra nodded her concurrence.

Daphne called out 'Periwinkle' and the elf materialized next to her chair.

"Lady Daphne?"

"The ladies fancy some tea," Daphne said. "I'd like mine cold, with lemon."

Everyone wanted theirs cold, with lemon, and the elf dematerialized with a little 'pop' before walking right back out of the door to the Mill with a tray holding four tall glasses of iced tea floating above her left hand.

Everyone murmured thanks, in accordance with the laziness of the July afternoon.

"I forgot to ask Scorpius about Merlin," Kendra said. "What has he turned up lately?"

"He is combing the Malfoy Manor library this summer," Astoria said, "Looking for anything relevant. His conversation is becoming peppered with references to Druids. As far as I can tell he's not getting into anything irresponsible. Given the location, you understand."

"Ohh, just advise him to be careful," Kendra said, "Or I will. Maybe both of us."

Daphne and Iolanthe exchanged looks.

"He's Binns' prized pupil," Iolanthe said. "Getting through Brother Glott's manuscript in one school year has put him on the map."

"And well it should," Kendra said, her words so carefully articulated they sounded as if they carried their own underlining. "A second year student working his way through a thirteenth century manuscript, translating the Latin and Danish as he went, in one year? That is worthy of a young Dumbledore, or Flamel."

"That really is quite impressive, Astoria," Daphne said.

"He needs to be careful studying Druids, though" Kendra went on. "Druidism can be studied but more than one young wizard has taken a text as authoritative and surprised himself. It's been said if you read a Druid spell or ritual, you're being led down a path, because the real Druids didn't commit anything to writing."

"That's interesting," Astoria said. "I couldn't boil water without reading the recipe."

Iolanthe thought that was hilarious, for some reason.

Everyone else thought Iolanthe's reaction was the hilarious part, especially the emergency takedown of her iced tea glass.

"Well, Mother," Astoria said when everyone's tea was finished. "I wonder if I could impose on you to floo back with me and my pheasant to Malfoy Manor? I would hate to mistake my stop and end up in Blackpool or something similar."

"I'd be delighted," Kendra said. "Do you expect Narcissa to be there?"

"She ought to be, unless she's gone off socializing," Astoria said. "Andromeda has lured her over recently with pleas to help her eat up Teddy's summer greens, lest they go to waste. They're setting records for frugality."

Iolanthe stood and kissed Kendra and Astoria good-bye, then sat down again with Daphne. When she saw the reflection of the green flames in the window of the Mill, and heard the 'WHOOSH' from the fireplace, she turned to her mother.

"Mother…" she began.

"Your aunt's time is getting short," Daphne said. "Iolanthe, I'm sorry to be so blunt, but there is no reason to try and make something so bitter sound sweet. She is tired, and she knows what it means. She has known forever. She worked it out for herself before Mother sat her down and told her everything. She is so strong. She always has been."

"She's very brave," Astoria said, believing she was agreeing with her mother.

"She is that," Daphne said, "But it has another dimension. She lived a witch's life to the fullest. We went through all of the crises at Hogwarts, and when your father and the anti-Voldemort fighters got that all sorted, she was ready the next September to go back and start school. When she and Draco discovered what love was, Lucius and Narcissa were quite tepid about it. Of course they wanted Draco to marry and have a family. They didn't think Astoria strong enough to produce what they were looking for from Draco. You see how that turned out. Draco told me he had to be ordered, by Astoria, to put his concerns out of his mind and do his duty."

Iolanthe's eyes had been tearing up while Daphne was talking, but she started to laugh at the thought of her Aunt Astoria ordering Draco Malfoy around under those circumstances.

"We can't let Draco or Scorpius know we know, hmmm…?" Daphne said. "That really wouldn't do."

"Something tells me one of them has already told Scorpius, and I'm guessing Auntie Astoria," Iolanthe said. "Of course I'll keep it to myself."

"On the other subject, Iolanthe, just appreciate every minute you can spend with her, for as long as it lasts. You can carry her in your heart forever that way."

Daphne clearly wanted a change of subject, so Iolanthe proposed a walk.

"Want to explore a lane or two? I came out to look at animals," Iolanthe said. "I haven't gotten very far."

"That's a wonderful idea," Daphne said. "Periwinkle, can we leave all of this with you?"

That was a rhetorical question because Periwinkle could not conceive of a better way of spending her time than picking up after Iolanthe and Daphne, unless Tracey and Zelda were added to the mix.

Iolanthe and Daphne walked across the little stone foot bridge that Harry, Fabio and the elves had built over the mill stream, not really thinking about where they were going. They were on Potter Manor land and could ramble for miles in any direction and still be on Potter Manor land. The woods beckoned, the shadows promising some filtering of the July sun. They followed a course of overgrown parallel tracks across a fallow field, where an abandoned lane had fulfilled some purpose long before. They talked as they crossed the field, about Hogwarts, Iolanthe's friendship with Rose, Iolanthe's suspicion that Rose and Scorpius were developing feelings that went beyond friendship, but it was too early to be certain.

"She's on track to be Head Girl, just like Hermione," Iolanthe said.

"How do you feel about that?" Daphne asked.

"Mother, are you asking if I'm jealous?" Iolanthe said.

Daphne walked on.

"I suppose I am, in a way," Daphne answered. "I was thinking I was asking about whether you thought it would affect your friendship, but you're probably right. Have I exposed you to too much psychology at too young an age?"

"No," Iolanthe said. "No, not at all."

Daphne's question and Iolanthe's answer took a moment to sink in.

"Good one, Mother," Iolanthe said in appreciation. "No, I'd rather Auntie Millicent pick someone else for prefect. We don't pal around and I call her Professor, but plenty of people know how she fits in our family, so I don't need the resentment. Another Black would be nice. I can usually get them to do what I want."

"Iolanthe Astoria," Daphne said. "Just thirteen and thinking that way."

They plowed their way through some tall, cane-like grasses.

"I'll be fourteen the first of December," Iolanthe retorted. "Besides, I'm a Potter, Black, Slytherin witch. I have to look out for a lot of people. They depend on me. Starting in September I'll have James and Zelda. I've got responsibilities."

They got out of the tall stuff and the old track reappeared.

"Stop."

Iolanthe reached out to block Daphne's way.

"What?"

"Just wait here," answered Iolanthe, walking on, slowly.

She stopped before she reached the beginning of a little depression. The dragon had been careful, but there were burned patches around the area. Iolanthe stood on a little mound and tried to assess what she was looking at.

Switching to parseltongue, Iolanthe spoke to whatever was out there: "Show yourself. I can't hurt you."

An inarticulate growl came back from a brushy patch.

"That won't help," Iolanthe said. "You need help, don't you?"

A tiny dragon walked out of the brush.

"It's Mother," the little dragon said. "Please."

Daphne had walked up and joined Iolanthe.

"No," said Daphne. "Darling," she added, softening up her command.

Iolanthe took a moment to switch to thinking and speaking in English.

"Let's just see if there is anything we can do," she offered, the best Iolanthe could think of on short notice.

"If we come to see you, will you try not to fry us?" Iolanthe called out. The little dragon turned and looked back into the overgrown area. Iolanthe pushed her satchel around behind her.

Some shrub-like plants concealed a small fold in the earth where a female dragon lay crouched. As dragons go, she was quite modest in size. Still, a dragon is a dragon. Iolanthe proceeded, but carefully.

"What has happened to you?" she asked.

"You can speak as a snake," the dragon stated, rather than asked. The baby waddled up and took the space between her mother's forelegs. Farmers had used the spot, over the years, for the rocks that were in their way in the cultivated fields all around, so the dragon actually looked right at home.

"What are you?"

Iolanthe took a moment to answer.

"I'm a witch," she said with a little shrug. "I was born speaking the sacred tongue, as a hatchling. The snakes know me, if you need references. So, again, what has happened?

"I used this spot for two other eggs, but this time one of the stones rolled off the pile and my wing is damaged. I can't hunt. I can wait, but the little one has to eat. By the time I can fly, she'll have starved," said the dragon. Iolanthe gasped, and her knees suddenly felt weak. She had never been exposed to a dragon in despair and wasn't prepared for the pain she felt in her own heart.

"If we can help you, can you control your breath?" Iolanthe asked.

"Yes," said the dragon. "We do have to discharge from time to time, or it builds up, but I am alright for now."

Iolanthe switched back to English.

"Mother, please come up here," she said. Daphne joined her on the little knob.

A gurgling sound came from the mother dragon's throat, and the baby pressed back against her breastbone.

"That is a CAT," said the dragon, little flames licking around her nostrils.

"No," Iolanthe said in a matter of fact manner. "That is a human. She can change into a cat, if the occasion calls for it. Besides, she just ate, so she isn't hunting now. Has the baby eaten?"

"No, not since yesterday when my wing was damaged," the dragon said, calming down a little.

"Well, then, here is what I propose," Iolanthe said. "In my bag I have food. Chicken. I was going to have it for lunch but I can get more so why don't I give it to your baby? You're free to inspect it."

Iolanthe pulled her bag around so she could raise the flap.

"What are you talking about? What are you doing?" Daphne demanded.

"Wait here until I find out," Iolanthe ordered in response. "We might be able to help her."

Iolanthe took out a parcel and unwrapped it. She held the lot so the dragon could see the sandwich inside, and walked deliberately toward the two. The baby smelled the chicken and started to become excited at the prospect of food.

"She doesn't need to cook it," Iolanthe advised the mother dragon, who lowered her muzzle and stroked the baby.

Iolanthe walked directly up to the pair and put the sandwich, wrappings and all, in front of the baby dragon, then stepped back a few steps.

"Mother is a healer," Iolanthe addressed the dragon. "A human, magical healer. She is in a panic, of course, because I'm down here with you. Can she join us? She might be able to help."

"If the cat moves on my baby, it won't go well," said the mother dragon.

"Oh, I think I can guarantee she will be very careful," Iolanthe replied. "Shall I call her down?"

The dragon paused to think. Iolanthe waited patiently, willing herself to think like a reptile, to live a reptile timeline. The human behind her was vibrating with fear and the thrill of standing in range of a dragon's flaming breath, while the dragon forebore roasting her alive.

"Io…"

"Ssssss…" Iolanthe said, with a wave, silencing her mother, as if that were something she was accustomed to doing every day.

The dragon came out of her reverie.

"When I denned up, two winters past, a snake found me, and asked to share the warmth. We talked and talked, waiting for spring. He spoke of a human hatchling, by the name of Iolanthe, who could speak their language from birth. I thought it was a typical snake legend, something to tell each other while they were wrapped up in their ball of snakes. You're her, aren't you?"

"Yes," said Iolanthe. "I am her. Can you focus on me while Mother attends to your injury? If you can't hunt, the baby won't live. With all our means we can't feed a baby dragon to maturity. Just look at me.

"Mother?"

Daphne stood still, trying to find the courage to comply with Iolanthe's request and approach the dragon. She heard Kendra, who had grasped her arm and told her,

"We are Greengrass witches, Daphne, and we protect our line."

Daphne hadn't known it at the time but she had been carrying Iolanthe when Kendra had done that. Now, here she stood, staring at death. Her daughter walked straight up to it. The prospect of instant immolation did not seem to bother her daughter at all. That was her line, right there, showing her the future, if she wanted it to go forward. Kendra had told her, that was why they lived.

Daphne made her decision, stepped off her spot and walked up to the dragon's wing.

"You've lost a few scales, and the skin is open a bit," she said, looking back at Iolanthe. Iolanthe spoke to the dragon in parseltongue.

"I need to use my wand. This won't hurt," Daphne said.

Iolanthe passed her assurances to the dragon.

"There is nothing broken," Daphne said after examining the wing. "You have deep bruising, perhaps a little swelling in that joint. I need some dittany to close up the wound. You can work on the pain and stiffness with moderate movement. I'll have to go for the dittany."

Iolanthe translated for the dragon.

"I carry a little dittany for emergencies," Iolanthe said in English, then translated for the dragon. "Not a lot. It's enough to start."

She reached into her satchel and felt around for the vial, before handing it to Daphne.

"Just look at me," Iolanthe said, reaching up by now and rubbing the dragon's muzzle.

"Let her put it on the wound. Just look at me. There! All done," Iolanthe said.

"What's your name?" Iolanthe asked.

"Gorr," said the dragon.

"North Star," said Iolanthe. "Such a beautiful name. And the baby?"

"We don't name them until a little later. So many don't get to their naming-age," said the dragon, a definite sadness coming through.

"Would you object to me naming her Iolanthe?" the dragon asked.

"I'm honored, but before I say yes, can I ask if you ever give them two names?"

"We do, if it would please you," said the mother dragon.

"You would do me a great honor if you could name her Astoria," Iolanthe said. "For my aunt."

"Astoria Iolanthe?" the dragon asked.

"If you could, yes," said Iolanthe.

"Done," said the dragon.

Daphne had been stepping back slowly from the dragon's side. She got back to her little knob.

"Iolanthe, come on back a bit and let our friend stretch her wing," Daphne said.

Iolanthe translated and backed away, stepping around the baby dragon who was now happily tearing at the sandwich wrapping paper with teeth and claws.

The dragon stood on her legs and stretched her wings.

"Sore," she said. "Can I fly?"

Iolanthe passed the question to Daphne.

"When you feel you can fly, you can fly," Daphne said, "Don't leave the ground until it feels right to you. By tomorrow, flying should not be a problem, if you can make yourself wait. Work the wing a little, slowly, and the pain should start to go out of it."

Iolanthe translated Daphne's advice.

"We'll leave you alone now," Iolanthe said. "I'm glad we met."

The baby blew flames through her nose, merrily setting the wrapping paper ablaze.

"Good-bye for now, Protector of Snakes," said the dragon.

Iolanthe and Daphne took off again across the fallow field, at an angle that took them further from the dragons with each step.

"So much for my slow day for observing animals," said Iolanthe.

Daphne had a great deal to say to Iolanthe. So much, in fact, that it all wanted to come out at once and she had no idea how to organize her words. She wanted to threaten Iolanthe with a ferocious, "When your father hears about this, young lady…" but that didn't seem quite right.

"Iolanthe, how could you?" would sound overly dramatic when really, nothing dangerous had happened at all.

"Iolanthe," Daphne began.

"Mother," Iolanthe answered, pushing her satchel out of the way so she could reach around Daphne's waist.

"As someone once said to me, 'Damn, you are one kick-ass witch.'"

"Thank-you, Mother. We worked well together back there. I think you are one kick-ass witch, too," Iolanthe said. "Just so you know, North Star made you for a cat right from the off. Dragon babies and cats don't mix well, it seems."

"Why didn't you say something?" Daphne demanded. "I'm no dragon expert. We could have gotten Charley Weasley if she didn't want me around."

"I couldn't say anything," Iolanthe answered. "I thought about it, but what if the situation put you into stress and you inadvertently transformed? That would have put me in a bad negotiating position. Very bad negotiating position. Better I lead everyone through what we needed to do, get North Star fixed, and we just walk away. As we're doing right now."

Daphne walked along with her young witch companion, who was still growing and not quite as tall as her mother.

"Merlin, what did I let Harry Potter cook up in me?" sprang unbidden into Daphne's thoughts.

"That's not fair," came the response, "Seeing she is one-half yourself. Besides, you're the one who bewitched him, in your bower, you witch. You couldn't leave him in peace, pay off the goblins, and enjoy your career as a healer. It was all right there in front of you."

"True," went the dialog. "But look what I'd have missed. She is magnificent, if a little scary. And James is a Harry clone, only I get to raise this one like a young man, not some unwanted castaway."

"And you're both still in love."

"Madly," Daphne thought. "When he touches me…"

"After all this time."

"Yes," thought Daphne. "I never want to stop feeling it."

"And you're about to start again."

"Not necessarily," Daphne thought. "I'm a little behind schedule. My body is changing. That is not definitive."

"You're a witch, and witches have babies into their fifties, sixties, and more. You've been through this twice, Daphne Greengrass Potter, you know what it feels like."

Iolanthe had been looking up at Daphne's face while they walked. Iolanthe had in fact been picking their path and steering Daphne as her mother walked along lost in her internal conversation.

"Mother? Is everything okay?" Iolanthe asked.

"Oh, sure, I was just thinking some things over, as long as you were navigating for us," Daphne said. "You know, the millstream is right over there. Feel like cooling your feet?"

Daphne turned for the stream. She remembered a thick fallen branch that crossed the stream nearby, fat enough to have been a tree trunk itself, the bark fallen away and the wood polished and bleached. She slipped her flats off and left them on the bank, leading the way out into the stream. Reaching the middle, she turned and slid up onto the branch.

"Perfect," she said, "I can just reach the water."

"How is it?" Iolanthe asked, stepping out of her sandals. "Cold!"

Iolanthe hadn't waited but just waded in and got her answer. Now her jeans were wet halfway to her knees. She joined her mother on the log and pulled the bottoms of the legs up so she could dangle her feet and not continue to soak the denim.

"What's up?" Iolanthe said.

Daphne stared at the water where it made riffles as it flowed over a gravel bank. Daphne was one of the people who are mesmerized by any kind of moving water.

"It feels like we're going to get an addition to our family," Daphne said. "After James, nothing happened, nothing at all, not even a maybe. I was like a clock. Now, it feels like…we're going to get…"

"An addition to our family," Iolanthe said, finishing Daphne's sentence for her. "Gosh, Mother! It will be like another family. James is eleven. James, then an eleven year gap, then a baby."

"I know," Daphne said, and dropped her head.

"Mother," Iolanthe shouted, just short of a scream. "What's wrong, it's wonderful news. Rose and I will drop out of Hogwarts and raise it for you!"

Daphne tried laughing and crying together, but neither worked very well. She dried her eyes on the back of her hand, and settled for laughing.

"You can't do that!" Daphne said. "Raising one more isn't a problem. It's not just a question of having a baby or raising a baby. Everything is going on at once. James' first year at Hogwarts, Mother and Father aren't getting younger, Grandmother Davis is fine, except she is capable of moving about fifty feet every twenty-four hours. And Astoria."

Daphne lost her composure again, the worst episode yet. For the first time ever, but certainly not the last, Iolanthe Astoria slid over next to her mother and pulled her close. She raised her free hand to Daphne's cheek and brought her head down to her breast, then she laid her own cheek down on the platinum hair.

"Go ahead. Go ahead and cry, Mother, as long as you need to. We'll just sit here. There's nowhere you have to be, there's nothing you have to do. None of this is your fault and we'll sit on this log and cry 'til you feel better."

Daphne did just that. They sat there on that log for quite a long time, Daphne crying, and Iolanthe holding her on the log, gently rocking her back and forth. Eventually, Daphne did cry herself out. She let Iolanthe hold her for several minutes more, while she breathed deeply, wiped tears, and reestablished her composure. When she straightened up, she gathered up the skirt of her summer dress and jumped into the water, where she held the skirt in one hand and used the other to scoop up cold water and splash it on her face.

"Whoo!" she said, giving Iolanthe a huge smile.

"Better?" asked Iolanthe.

"Perfect!" Daphne said.

Iolanthe joined her in the stream and they walked back across the gravel bed to the bank. Iolanthe gave Daphne a boost up, and Daphne turned and reached down for Iolanthe. Between the grass and the sunshine, they got their feet dry enough to put their footwear back on and followed the current back toward the Mill.

They got to the arbor, which had been freshly tidied by Periwinkle, and was ready for its next event. Daphne looked over the Mill and didn't see anything amiss. Some fairies appeared.

"Hullo to the fairies," they said, in turn.

"The fairies are happy to see Daphne and Iolanthe Astoria," said the collective voice of the fairies. "And…the others."

Daphne and Iolanthe shared a look.

"Not a problem," Daphne said. "We'll cope."

They struck out for Potter Manor.

Iolanthe had to talk. She couldn't help it.

"The others," she said.

"Why not?" Daphne asked. "We didn't have twins the last two times."

"Will it be twice as hard on you?" Iolanthe asked.

Daphne thought, then shrugged.

"Maybe," Daphne said. "But I'm going to do it anyway. My sister is so different from me. She showed me so many things I would have missed in my chronic tunnel vision. Now she's showing me something I should have learned long ago. You seem to know it instinctively, just the same as her—counting is not the same as living."


	26. Chapter 26

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Twenty-Six

The Cycles Intersect

Astoria Malfoy arrived at Malfoy Manor in the company of her mother, Kendra Greengrass, and was promptly greeted by a house elf wearing a cravat, pearl gray vest, wing collar and swallowtail coat.

No one knew just where or how the elf had acquired clothes, which normally would have meant he'd been given them by his master or mistress and dismissed from their service.

The elf was named Boggs, and he was a butler. He alluded to a long line of butlers, direct and collateral ancestors, who had preceded him in his profession, but even Tracey Davis could not recall house elf butlers, named Boggs, or anything else.

Boggs had come to the Malfoys by way of a 'Situations Wanted' advertisement in the Daily Prophet. At his interview with Narcissa Malfoy, Boggs had spoken a bit vaguely about a recent tragedy in his master's family, and a little later on to a terrible accident, too painful to discuss. Despite the sketchy backstory, Narcissa developed a liking for the butler-elf and invited him to Malfoy Manor for a little familiarization. Once he'd had the tour, Boggs announced he was eager to get to work. He started out greeting arriving guests, accepting cloaks, capes, and all manner of wizarding headgear, sending everything to the cloakroom for hanging with just an elegant wave of his elf hand, walking into Lucius Malfoy's study or Narcissa's salon and announcing the guests, before bowing himself out of the room and closing the door.

"He seems to know his butlering," Lucius allowed at dinner one night about a week after Boggs arrived.

Boggs was a born diplomat. As a butler, one might have thought Boggs would start contending for position with the house elves already in the Malfoys' service. To the contrary, Boggs went out of his way to lend a hand, doing jobs that might have been thought beneath the position of the butler. When helping with a chore soiled his butler regalia, he tut-tutted away any concerns and cleaned, ironed, or mended as needed, using his butler elf magic. Before long he had every Malfoy elf looking up to him for his demonstrated professional competence and likeable demeanor.

The formalities surrounding Astoria and Kendra's arrival were exchanged with precision. Astoria advised Boggs that she was tired, and wished to sit for a moment with her mother in the salon. In addition, she had a pheasant, a very special pheasant that must be treated with the utmost care. She asked that the head kitchen elf be summoned. Astoria could have called for any of the Malfoy elves but now that they had a butler, she observed protocol and let the butler handle it.

The head kitchen elf appeared in the hallway just outside the salon and Astoria greeted her, then explained the gift of the fresh-killed pheasant, how it needed to be hung up for a few hours, then that she would like it prepared by roasting for dinner that evening. The elf's favorite stuffing was a combination of cooked brown rice, pine nuts and chopped spinach, and she asked if that was acceptable. Astoria thought that it was, and left it to the elf.

"Freshen up?" Astoria asked Kendra, nodding to the little powder room that was discreetly tucked behind a door in the furthest corner of the salon. Kendra took her up on it. Astoria sat down on one of the long lounges and slipped out of her shoes.

"Melon," she called, summoning her personal house elf maid. Draco and Tracey had collaborated in recruiting a personal elf maid for Astoria. When she had become visibly weaker and started tiring easily, the elf made a huge difference in the quality of Astoria's life. Over the few years she'd worked for Astoria, Melon became deeply attached to her, a feeling Astoria reciprocated. The one complaint Melon had was that Astoria was much too neat to really challenge Melon's elf magic, and she wished Mistress Astoria would make a little more of an effort in her mess-making.

"Shoes, please, Melon," Astoria said, "Up to my closet, and when you're finished please come right back. Madame Kendra is next door and she may want a mineral water or some other refreshment."

Shoes sorted and refreshments managed, Astoria looked into everyones' evening plans. Lucius, it seemed, was with some potion-making friends, and would be home after dinner. Narcissa wasn't expected either, since she'd gone for the day to Andromeda's house and they usually ate in the afternoon, just before Narcissa returned.

Draco was on the property somewhere, and Scorpius had taken some books from the library and was reading them in his room. Both were expected for dinner, or, at least hadn't given notice that they would not be there.

"Are you all set, dear?" Kendra asked.

"I think so," Astoria said. "Perfect lunch with perfect company and a little light refreshment upon my return home."

"I'll take the liberty of saying hello to Scorpius, if that is alright with you?" Kendra said. "You take a nap and I'll be off. Tell Narcissa I'm so sorry to have missed her. We'll have to get together soon for lunch."

Kendra left, and found Scorpius with a little help from Boggs. She told him she'd been hearing good things about his research but stopped short of embarrassing him.

Astoria, Scorpius and Draco dined together that evening. The pheasant did not appear to be sufficient as a main dish for a family of three when Astoria brought it home, so it was prepared with the thought it would be a starter course. After a little plate of baked ziti and a small salad for each of them, though, everyone seemed satiated, and only Scorpius added a fruit sorbet to finish everything off.

Scorpius excused himself, washed up, and prepared for bed directly after dinner, then equipped himself with two books from the Malfoy Manor library and repaired to a covered veranda for some background reading. The veranda was on the second floor, overlooking the gardens to the rear of the house. Scorpius noticed Draco and Astoria strolling on the graveled paths that marked the sections of the garden. Astoria walked arm in arm with Draco, so at times he appeared to be supporting her. They were having a long talk, it was clear, but Scorpius was happy he couldn't tell what they were saying. He was enjoying the veranda, and his books, and he would have felt obligated to go inside if he'd been able to overhear his parents' private conversation.

Astoria was up early the next morning. She called for Melon and asked for a coffee, black, in her room. She laid out a royal blue caftan with a silver border, and a pair of simple black leather sandals with discreet silver trim. After her bath, she called for Melon again and asked her to please bring up a little fruit plate, and advised the elf she would be leaving for the Mill to read _The Odyssey_ with her niece right after she finished the fruit.

Astoria got to the Mill a little before ten, to find Iolanthe was already sitting in the shade of the arbor.

"Been here long?" Astoria asked.

"Not that long," Iolanthe said. "Besides, we all have to be someplace, regardless, so what better place…?"

"Too right," Astoria agreed as she laid a little canvas bag on the table. She turned the broad flap that closed the bag over and pulled out a leather-bound copy of the Fitzgerald translation. Iolanthe saw two cream-colored envelopes sticking out of the cover, but Astoria slipped those back in the bag before closing the flap.

"Ready?" Astoria asked.

"Just about," Iolanthe answered. "Periwinkle?"

"Miss Iolanthe, how can Periwinkle help you this morning?" asked the elf.

"Madame Malfoy and I will be reading this morning, and I think we would be very comfortable if you could put two of those canvas chairs in the shade near the mill pond," Iolanthe said.

The elf disapparated and was back almost immediately with two pieces from the manor's patio set.

Astoria and Iolanthe thanked Periwinkle, lay back in the sling chairs and opened their books. As soon as they settled down the fairies began arriving and worked out a way to make them each a crown of swirling lights.

"Where?" Iolanthe asked.

"Book XVI, Father and Son," Astoria said, thumbing her text.

" _But there were two men in the mountain hut, Odysseus and the swineherd_ …" Iolanthe began.

They took turns, reading for ten or fifteen minutes before yielding the floor. From time to time they'd stop and ask a question, or give an opinion.

"What does that _mean_?"

"I never did like her."

"MEN!"

It was a little after twelve when Astoria called a halt.

"My voice needs a rest!" she said. "This has been fun. I have to stop before we get too much of a good thing."

"Going back?" Iolanthe asked.

"No, love," Astoria said. "Draco's coming with Scorpius. I'm going to take a nap and rest from our exertions and be ready for my lads."

"Okay," Iolanthe said, kneeling down beside Astoria's sling chair to give her a long hug. "I just love being Iolanthe Astoria Potter. I always will," she said.

"Thank-you so much for telling me that, Iolanthe," Astoria said. "I'm very happy that's who you are. I have been since Daphne gave you your name, right here, the night the fairies asked who you were."

Iolanthe looked at Astoria and nodded. She leaned over and gave her a kiss, and quickly turned away to walk back to Potter Manor.

Astoria closed her eyes and enjoyed the shade for a few minutes. When she got up, she took her copy of _The Odyssey_ and put it back in the bag. Picking up her silver-trimmed sandals, Astoria went inside the Mill. She dropped her bag on the bed and the sandals on the floor beside it. After a visit to The Baths, she came back to the bedroom. She sat on the bed and opened the bag, taking out _The Odyssey_ and the two envelopes. Putting everything on the foot of the bed, she crossed to the window and opened it, returned to the bed and picked up her book.

Astoria was awakened by a buzzing sound. She'd never heard anything buzz so loudly. She looked up and saw a large, black and yellow wasp circling the room. Astoria watched it for awhile before she saw that it was flying in what appeared to be perfect circles. The wasp would fly in a circle that nearly reached the walls, then cut across and fly several tight, fast circles in the center of the first one, then move out and fly a medium circle.

"Artemis?" she asked. "Is that you?"

No one answered, so she tried again.

"Father Zeus? Have you come to visit me as a wasp?"

This time she got an answer. A tall woman, not pretty, but formidable, and fine-looking, wearing a floor-length purple gown and sandals covered in gold leaf walked through the bedroom door and sat on the edge of the bed.

"No, dear," she said. "My husband wanted to ease your passage, so we discussed it at some length and I asked him to send the wasp. It's a courtesy, really. Your time has run out, which you already knew. I came to tell you how much we all admire you. Ever since Artemis came back from Durres, we've been watching.

"You were a model wife and mother. You refused to let the family curse intimidate you or slow you down. You lived on willpower to have the time to raise your son. You should know your efforts have made you famous on Olympus. You should also know your ancestor's enemy's curse is no more. You are the last. It won't go on through Scorpius or any of Daphne's children. You broke it. Are you happy?"

"The happiest," Astoria said. "You're Hera?"

"Yes, dear. Are you ready?"

Astoria took a deep breath and let it out, then another. She lay the book on her abdomen and reached up to the buttons that closed the caftan. When it was loose enough, she spread it open, took _The Odyssey_ in one hand, and grasped Hera's with the other. The wasp descended to land between her breasts.

Draco had put his ear over that spot to listen to her heart while he told her every way he could think of how much he loved her. She had put the newborn Scorpius right there when he had finished his first meal at her breast. She thought of those things when the wasp touched her heart with its stinger, and she had for a moment the feeling that her body burst into fire from within, but that was a flash, followed by a plunge into a cool, blue place that seemed to be filled with some kind of gel.

Astoria's eyes were open and she picked out a bright spot in the blue, and thought that must be up, so she began swimming toward it. She swam and swam, holding her breath, but swimming through the gel was a lot more difficult than swimming through water. The hand that held hers gave a tug and Astoria's head broke the surface.

"So," Astoria said.

"All done," answered Hera.

Astoria looked around. She thought she was looking at some sort of desert, but she wasn't too familiar with those.

"Is this the underworld?" she asked Hera, who didn't seem to have any goddess business demands on her time, judging by how much of it she was lavishing on Astoria.

"You won't be going to the underworld, Astoria, unless you want to go," Hera began. "Your pure heart and courage must be rewarded. You know Elysion? The Elysian Fields?"

"Oh," Astoria said. "That's totally unexpected. Who do I thank?"

"All of us," Hera said. "By consensus. I'll pass it along for you. There is a reason you're here, of course. See the elderly gentleman over there?"

Astoria looked where Hera indicated and saw a man sitting on the edge of a cliff, looking out over the desert.

"He has some information you'll need. Now, you're going to remain here until I come back for you. Chat Don Juan up. You'll find him very interesting," Hera concluded, and dematerialized.

Astoria walked over to where the old man sat, his legs dangling over a cliff.

"Hullo," Astoria said. "My name is Astoria. My friend said you're called Don Juan?"

Astoria let herself down to the surface, carefully inching her way to the drop so she could hang her legs over. It occurred to her she really didn't need to be careful, if she was dead. She supposed that would be something one becomes used to, over time.

"I am," said Don Juan. "What brings you here?"

"I died a short while ago," Astoria said. "Someone brought me here to wait. She's to come back for me at some point. There is supposed to be something coming that I'll be needed for. Of course she didn't bother to tell me what it is."

"Oh, that is typical," Don Juan said. "Always with the mystery. If you're dead, do you mind telling me what you did in life?"

"I'm a witch," Astoria said. "That's what I did. Lived like I saw my mother live. She's a brilliant, very powerful witch. I got married and had a son. He just had his thirteenth birthday. I used my skills to make my husband happy and raise my son."

"Well, that is very impressive," Don Juan said. "Your accent says you are from England, if I'm not mistaken."

"Yes," Astoria said. "I was raised in Devon, educated in Scotland, spent lots of time with magical folk in London. How about you? Where are we, anyway?"

'I'm in New Mexico, in the United States," Don Juan said. "I'm a shaman. I was studying a problem someone brought me, from different angles, and I'd been here before, working something out, so I came back for the view. If you're really dead, that might mean something different for you. Do you know an English wizard named Harry Potter? I met him some years ago. He's very brave, but he's scared to death of his wife."

Astoria had just enough time to think, "I wonder if we laugh in the afterlife?" when she lost control. She made sure she was back in control before she started.

"Harry Potter is married to my sister. He is smart. That is why he's afraid of her. He is immensely powerful, but he loves her, heart and soul. He would be quite vulnerable, power or not, if she didn't love him the same way," Astoria said.

"It sounds like they are both very fortunate, to have found each other, I mean," Don Juan said. "If those arrangements are too one-sided, someone gets angry, or jealous, and that can be that. So much in life depends on everything being balanced. How are Harry and Daphne these days?"

"Doing well," Astoria said. "Just before I died, Daphne confided in me that she is pretty certain she's pregnant again. It has been eleven, going on twelve years since their son was born. It will be like a new family for them, all over again."

"Oh," Don Juan said, "They have a son? I haven't heard from Harry recently, so I knew about the daughter, but not their son. _Dios mio_ , I must work harder at keeping up. What is Harry doing these days? He was between jobs, you could say, when we saw each other last."

"Do you know about intelligence, Don Juan? In a government sense?" Astoria asked.

"Yes," Don Juan said. "I do some work at the university in Las Cruces. Lots of physicists there. The government sends security people every year to lecture on how to recognize when we're being recruited."

"Harry is the Minister for Magic's spymaster," Astoria said. "I'm not supposed to know that, or talk about it, but I'm dead, so I don't think I'm breaking any confidences. Even if you blab you'll have to cite a conversation with a dead woman sitting on the edge of a cliff."

"What are you here for, Don Juan?" Astoria asked. "Besides thinking about your problem?"

Don Juan planted his palms behind him and leaned back.

"Like I said before, someone brought it to me, to work on for them," Don Juan began. "Now that you're here, I am starting to think you have something to do with it. I should tell you, I get here by means of peyote. I don't know if that affects your view of me or not, but you have a right to know. My body is in a hammock tied between two cottonwood trees near a little creek that runs year around. If you're looking for a beautiful place to spend eternity, ask the lady who brought you here to assign you. There doesn't seem to be a spirit anywhere around there."

"Oh, you're outside your body!" Astoria said. "That's some advanced wizardry, Don Juan. Are you sure it is okay?"

"There hasn't been a problem leaving it there up until now," Don Juan said. "I'll go check on it from time to time. Did your friend tell you what you're to do?"

"No," said Astoria, "It's a total mystery. Just that there is something for me to do here before she takes me on, and to chat you up because you have a lot of information and you're very interesting."

"Any idea who she is?" Don Juan asked.

"Yes, she's Hera, Father Zeus' wife? From Olympus? His daughter, Artemis, offered her help when I was planning a family with my husband. I've been living with a blood curse my whole life, something that came down through generations of my family. No one thought I'd get pregnant, or that I'd survive the pregnancy, or childbirth. Here I am thirteen years later. Anyway, Artemis' family has taken an interest in me."

"Ah, the chief god, Father Zeus," Don Juan mused. "In this part of the world he's often seen as a quetzal or a thunderbird, depending on one's mother culture. And he has favored you by giving you his wife as your escort."

It wasn't a question. Don Juan simply stated it as a fact.

"That could be significant."

Don Juan went back into his own thoughts.

The Mill was very quiet when Draco and Scorpius walked past the wooden bench and millstone. Draco could see the front of the building clearly. He'd thought Astoria might be sitting on the bench beside the door, waiting for them. There were two canvas sling chairs near the mill pond. They were facing each other, not the pond. The witches must have had them that way for their marathon _Odyssey_ reading.

Scorpius noticed the front door was standing open. When the path jogged the angle of approach changed and he could see the bedroom window was open as well. The weather was very nice, so his mother was probably asleep in the bedroom. Sadly, she was getting through her days with the help of two or three naps daily, but she was her normal energetic self when a nap was over.

By the time they reached the door, Draco was convinced he knew what had happened. He and Astoria had walked and talked in the Malfoy Manor garden, he begging her to try to hold out until someone figured out how to break the family curse, she stating over and over that the time was past, that she knew what was coming, and she was counting on Draco to get their beloved son through his mourning and back to Hogwarts.

Astoria had been one of the first of the witches and wizards around the Malfoys to understand just how much potential Scorpius had. She marveled at his progress during his first year at school, when he'd come in something of a rustic stock character with a basic education and tore into his magical studies like they were a banquet for which he had been starving.

The second year, and his fascination with Merlin, weren't a surprise to Astoria. Scorpius could only be satisfied with fundamentals so long, then he'd need to ratchet up his game. The only thing that surprised Astoria was how fast he'd ratcheted it up. To go from a schoolboy's fascination with a subject to studying an original source from the thirteenth century was more than a leap, it was equivalent to one of those moon shots the muggles went on about.

Thus her lecture to Draco while they strolled in the garden. In a long line of Malfoys, some with reasonable magical accomplishments, others with a proclivity for frittering away their lives worrying over other peoples' magical pedigrees, Scorpius stood alone. At the age of thirteen, he was already the most distinguished scholar the Malfoys had ever produced, and was at least a co-equal with Phineas Nigellus among the Blacks. Astoria's point was they had a responsibility to protect, encourage, guide and support Scorpius so that he could reach his potential. She left unspoken what she'd already tried to convey—that very soon, she'd be called away, and the responsibility would be Draco's alone.

Draco felt the presence of Death before he got to the bedroom. He thought of ordering Scorpius to stay outside until he confirmed his fears, but quickly changed his mind. He remembered how carefully Astoria had instructed him to meet her at the Mill, and to bring Scorpius, after which they'd go on together to whatever lay ahead. Draco faced that next step with dread. He had to show his son how a wizard bore tragedy. He also knew he really didn't feel like living in a world without Astoria.

"Scorpius, I don't think this is going to be very pleasant," Draco said. "I'm going to need your help and support. I will do my best to give you mine."

"I know, Dad," Scorpius said. "She's gone, isn't she?"

They stood looking at the door to the bedroom, which stood open a few inches.

"Let's go see her," said Draco in a very hoarse whisper. "Before everyone else gets here."

They crossed the great main room and Draco put his fingertips on the bedroom door. It swung open with a touch. Astoria lay in the center of the bed, where she and Draco had spent their wedding night, and where she always suspected they had started Scorpius the evening of the day she'd been given Father Zeus' blessing outside by the millpond.

Astoria had her Fitzgerald _Odyssey_ in her left hand, which lay across her torso, just above her waist, and her right hand lay at her side, palm up, with the fingers and thumb held so she might have been holding someone's hand at the moment she died. Her feet were bare, and her sandals with silver trim were placed together on the floor beside the bed. The royal blue caftan was open at the top, and a tiny red dot was visible right above her heart.

Astoria looked like she had just lain down for a nap, but both Scorpius and Draco focused their eyes on her chest and didn't see movement. Draco noticed the envelopes first. He picked them up, read 'Draco' and 'Scorpius' and handed one over. Inside were handwritten notes for each of them, from Astoria. They each chose one side of the bed and sat down, taking the hand on that side, and sat there looking at Astoria's face.

Draco doubted either of them would be able to read the notes more than superficially until some time had passed, but he forced himself to get through his in case there were any time-sensitive last requests.

"Your mother wants a pyre," he said, looking up from his note. "She talked about it before, more than once, but it was really mentioning it in passing. She was serious. Well, I'll be."

Draco read on. Astoria loved them both. They weren't to mourn or get maudlin. Her life had been fun, curse or no curse, especially after she got such a fine family of her very own. She sent love to Lucius and Narcissa for accepting her as a Malfoy. Draco was to support Scorpius as long as necessary because he probably wouldn't make a lot of money as a scholar. The last paragraph was quite personal and detailed, something for Draco to keep to himself, for propriety's sake.

Scorpius read a similar note, not quite as earthy as Draco's. His father would need him, for a year or more, so he wasn't to give him any unnecessary scares or cause for alarm. After Draco got over his grief he would be free to develop friendships, and perhaps one would become companionship, even love. Scorpius should be generous with his father. He made friends much more easily than Draco did, so Draco might end up alone for decades. If Draco was lucky enough to find someone, Astoria hoped Scorpius could be kind enough to accept her, as long as she wasn't too horrid.

Scorpius couldn't help it. He started to laugh, then he began talking to Astoria.

"Oh, Mother, you are too much. You make me laugh when I feel like I'll start crying and cry forever."

Scorpius sat back down on the edge of the bed and held Astoria's hand while he read the rest of her note. It was more Astoria graciousness, with a subtle bit of humor at regular intervals. He was to feed the trout. Scorpius read it through, and through again. He lost count. Eventually, he folded the note card over and put it back in its envelope.

"Grandmother Greengrass?" Scorpius asked as he stood up. Draco nodded, not saying anything, tears running down both cheeks.

Draco heard Scorpius from the main room. The fireplace whooshed and Scorpius spoke to the flames:

"Greengrass Manor. Grandmother? Can you come to the Mill?"

Shortly after they'd spoken, Kendra arrived via floo. She wore a full-length dress of black linen, with long sleeves, white cuffs and a white collar. The end of her wand showed at her left wrist.

"The bedroom?" she asked Scorpius, after she had given him a kiss on the cheek and a long hug.

Scorpius nodded.

Scorpius followed Kendra into the bedroom. Draco still sat on the bed, holding Astoria's hand and looking at her face.

"Hello, Draco," said Kendra as she crossed the room.

After giving Draco the same kiss on the cheek and hug she'd given Scorpius, Kendra sat on the bed opposite Draco and took Astoria's other hand. She looked at Astoria's face, reaching out and fully closing her eyes. Kendra closed her own eyes and sat there, tears leaking out and streaming down her cheeks. She didn't let it go on. Before too long, she stood, drew her wand across her face and cast her freshening charm.

"Draco, I'm going to need to begin making arrangements," she said, "But you and Scorpius can be alone here with Astoria for a little while longer."

With Scorpius in the bedroom with Astoria and Draco, Kendra was free to work. The floo brought the Potters, then Hermione, whom Kendra needed to handle some of the administration and to owl the necessary witches. Kendra's witches began arriving in twos and threes. When everyone had said their good-byes, the family was tenderly shooed out, blinds were pulled down over the windows, and the witches began carrying out their duties.

Draco walked outside to find that almost everyone was gathered under the arbor. Weeping elves kept bringing food and beverages so that the table had to be subjected to repeated expansion charms. Daphne, Fabio, Harry and the children stood in a clump, with mourners stopping by for handshakes and long, squeezing hugs.

"She asked for a pyre," Draco said. "Oh, and this is for you, Iolanthe."

He handed over the leather-bound copy of the Fitzgerald translation of _The Odyssey_ that Astoria had been reading just a few hours before. Iolanthe took the little volume with a whispered "Thank-you" before turning and walking away from the group.

"A pyre?" Fabio asked. "The only thing surprising about that is that it is not a surprise. One of a kind, right to the end."

"Yes, a pyre, everyone's welcome to take a little of the ash, once it burns out, and she specifically requested someone rake up some ashes for the trout pond. I guess the idea was at least some of her will spend eternity with them," Draco said.

Harry looked at Daphne.

"There is plenty of wood over that way," he said. "There are dead ones still standing, so they're nice and dry. All that's needed is to cut them down and work them up to proper size."

Fabio thought everything through. Kendra had finished what she could do inside and had left the witches alone with Astoria. She left the building and found the family group near the arbor.

"Astoria asked for a pyre," Fabio said, his arm around Kendra's waist. "Harry's got the seasoned timber over in those woods. We'd have to wait until everyone clears out, or we'll be flying logs into peoples' heads, but with a couple of elves we can work tonight and have it ready for morning."

Kendra looked at Draco.

"A pyre?" she asked.

Draco nodded, then he just had to laugh.

"Isnt' that just…" he said, leaving it there.

The yes's of consensus went 'round.

Kendra looked at Scorpius.

"Scorpius? You have a say," Kendra said.

"It seems okay," he managed to say. "Very Mum."

"It's perfect," Daphne said. "You're so right, Scorpius. It's your mum, through and through."

Iolanthe, who'd walked back over, didn't feel much like talking, but she could nod.

"Done," said Harry. "We'll work all night if we have to. Sunup tomorrow morning?"

"Yep," Draco said. "It sounds like that's what she'd want."

He looked at Scorpius, who gave a silent thumbs-up.

Harry, Fabio and James detached themselves and went to scout a safe spot for a pyre. Rose Granger-Weasley, arriving with Ron and Hugo, gravitated straight to Scorpius.

Rose gave Scorpius a long hug that included gently placing her hand behind his head and pressing it over to lean against hers. Iolanthe was looking Rose straight in her eyes and gave her a knowing half smile, causing Rose to smile, so Iolanthe had to look away. Rose let Scorpius go and stepped over to Iolanthe.

Iolanthe maintained her composure, somehow, when her friend pulled her close and began rubbing her back.

"How are you doing, sweetheart?" Rose asked.

"Not too well," Iolanthe said.

"I think you're doing great. You're just overwhelmed feeling all the love she left behind for you. That's what I think," Rose said.

She maneuvered to place herself to Scorpius' right, signaling with her eyes for Iolanthe to take his left side. Together they walked away from the group, arms interlaced. Some observers thought Scorpius looked a little shaky on his feet as the trio walked, but Rose and Iolanthe seemed to have the situation in hand, so everyone left them alone. They walked as far as the millstream, where they stood tossing pebbles in and sharing short comments and little anecdotes about interactions they'd had with Astoria.

The session did wonders for Scorpius' composure. Something about the 'plunk-plunk-plunk' of the stones hitting the surface, the sound of the running water, and the reminiscences about Astoria's influence in all their lives let him accept the container in the Mill wasn't his mother anymore. That woman had burst free from her physical restraints and assumed another, freer form, immutable and impervious to curses. Somehow, while he talked to his friends, Astoria's spirit found its way into Scorpius' heart, where he'd be keeping it forever.

Astoria still sat with Don Juan in New Mexico, waiting for whatever it was Hera thought she'd be needed for.

"Do you meet a lot of dead people, as a shaman, I mean?" asked Astoria.

"Not as many as everyone thinks," Don Juan answered. "Harry and I met right here. It was a very odd day. I'd been chewing peyote in my hammock, rather furiously, and was sitting here feeling hurt and disappointed that all my work seemed to be for nothing. I blamed the peyote, because I'd been finding the current product to be inferior to what I'd experienced in my apprenticeship. You spot the flaw in my reasoning, I'm sure. The peyote couldn't work through my own overwhelming egotism. The more I chewed and the harder I worked at trying to make the peyote do as I wanted, the less the peyote was able to cut through the noise. I was the one bringing the noise, with all my fretting. Then Harry appeared, right near where you're sitting. He was talking about swimming through some blue gelatin and a criminal casting a rebounding spell and I don't know what all. I was sure I was dead. He had a dog's head and wore a skirt. Have you heard of Anubis?"

"One of the Egyptian gods who conveys the dead to the scale where their heart is weighed?" Astoria asked.

"Yes, that one. A dog's head, bare chest, a short reed staff, and a skirt! Very out of place in New Mexico," Don Juan went on. "Well, anyway, we sat up here and told stories, and we finally decided neither of us was dead. My inconclusive peyote session kind of fizzled out, and I returned to my body in the hammock. Don Enrique and I next saw one another in a little bar and restaurant in Las Cruces. He introduced me to a professor friend from Princeton and we drank beer out of bottles and listened to a fantastic little band from Texas until your sister barged in and took them both back to Princeton."

"Did she?" Astoria asked. "You guys were having a good time, listening to some music, talking and drinking a beer, and she came in and just put an end to it? Just like that? Did she take the time to introduce herself, or join you in a beer, just to be polite?"

"Um, no," said Don Juan. "She was a bit agitated. Your brother-in-law had a habit of getting into dangerous situations, and she didn't always appreciate the necessity. We'd talked it all through in our earlier meeting."

"Anyway, Harry did manage to tell me he'd wandered in the desert as Anubis for several seasons before he got back to his wife the first time," Don Juan went on. "I've always wanted to have the opportunity to talk about that with him at length. That is some real shaman work, inadvertent or not. Anything he saw, or heard, or did while he was Anubis could have some significance. There could be a journal article in that."

"One of the anthropological journals?" Astoria asked.

"No, the shamans have a journal," Don Juan answered.

"So my circle and Harry's intersected with yours, and here we are back again where you two first met," Astoria said, then, as an afterthought, "Only he was Anubis at the time."

"Yes," Don Juan said. "He was Anubis, and neither of us were dead."

"Did that shock you?" Astoria asked. "Or would it have been more shocking if one or both of you _were_ dead?"

"Shaman work means encountering the dead," Don Juan said. "It's inevitable with some rituals, if you're looking to placate a dead person, to take one obvious example. Maybe the spirit feels wronged or disrespected, so they bring a person lots of bad luck. A shaman might go seek that spirit out where it lives and ask what can be done. Broker a deal, you could say."

"Oh," Astoria said. "Hmmm…"

When the witches inside the Mill allowed mourners to enter, Scorpius took Draco's arm and led him in to stand at the foot of the catafalque, where they remained, shaking hands once again and listening to attempts at comforting words that were for the most part heartfelt but really quite awkward.

Astoria had received the loving care of several experienced witches. She had been bathed, her blue caftan washed, dried, carefully ironed, and put back on her, and she lay under a sheer sheet on her catafalque before the fireplace in the main room of the Mill.

Candles burned on the mantle and in two enormous wrought iron candelabra brought from Malfoy Manor. The sheer drape and the candlelight brought Astoria's face into a soft relief that left the people filing by feeling as if they had just been visiting an angel.

Draco could barely speak, his face immobile with the effort to keep himself from bursting into tears over and over. Scorpius, on the other hand, was extremely gracious, nodding respectfully when elders took his hand, getting almost all of the titles and honorifics right, and expressing sincere thanks for each person who had made the effort to come.

When the condolences and paying of respects had ended, the family stood around outside, some Blacks and other close friends keeping them company. No one wanted to slink away and leave Astoria alone.

Scorpius appeared to expand somehow, following his session throwing pebbles in the stream with Iolanthe and Rose. After that conversation he seemed stabilized and capable of handling anything fate handed him. He moved through the crowd of people, accepting expressions of sympathy, sharing little memories, thanking friends and family for coming.

The activity at the Mill wound down except for Harry, Fabio and James, who had gone to the woods to select trees for Astoria's pyre. They had formed up a crew of the two households' gardening gnomes, and were transporting the firewood and laying it up to give Astoria the sendoff she'd requested.

Narcissa and Lucius had excused themselves earlier and were back at Malfoy Manor. Scorpius stayed close to Draco and watched him closely. He couldn't have estimated the number of times Draco had said to him that Astoria saved his life. Scorpius didn't want to, but couldn't help fearing Draco would find living distasteful after her loss.

Tracey had come with Zelda and Blaise, but Blaise took the other two back to Morgan le Fay's for dinner, tea and London-viewing. Tracey would be coming back to Potter Manor, while Zelda would overnight with Blaise.

The Potters, Kendra, Draco and Scorpius were still scattered about the door yard when the sun went down. Iolanthe and Daphne had lined up the sling chairs and lay back looking at the sky, holding hands and starting stories with, "Remember that time…"

Astoria and Don Juan sat chatting on the edge of their cliff. Astoria spent some time bragging about her own young scholar and his interest in Merlin. Don Juan said he had become interested in comparative studies in shamanism which led to reading all the literature on Druids, which inevitably looped back to Merlin.

Astoria had a Druid question all ready to ask Don Juan as soon as she could get a word in.

"DAMMIT, Malfoy!" clove the peaceful New Mexico day, and a body was heaved up over the side of the cliff. It rolled over once and the person sat up.

"Scorpius! What are you doing here?" Astoria demanded.

Another person climbed up and stood on top of the mesa.

"And Iolanthe!" Astoria observed. "Answers, NOW!"

"I fell in the pond," Scorpius explained.

"I pulled him out of the pond after he jumped in!" Iolanthe expanded.

"I didn't jump, I just slipped. Got too close. Merlin, I stink," Scorpius said.

"Who's this?" Iolanthe asked, indicating Don Juan.

"Are we dead?" Scorpius asked, looking from Iolanthe to Astoria. "Is this the afterlife? Have you met Merlin, by any chance?"

He asked that last question a little too eagerly, for Astoria's taste, prompting her to restore order.

"Stop!" Astoria ordered. "No, I don't think you're dead. Don Juan isn't dead. He's in a state. He's a shaman. I have a theory, Don Juan, that you have constructed this desert over the years and you come to sit here and work on the problems people bring you. My escort brought me here on the way to wherever I'm going, so these two would have a place to land after their swim."

"Did you have to swim through some blue, gelatin-like stuff?" Iolanthe asked.

"Yes, I think you're right. It does feel like that is a good explanation for this place. Harry said he had to go through the blue gelatin," said Don Juan. "It's not something I made."

"Well, as long as we're here," Scorpius said, walking over and sitting next to Astoria on the edge of the cliff. Iolanthe sat down next to him on the side away from Astoria.

"Listen up, you two, I don't know how much time we have," said Astoria. "After I died, I had an escort who showed me the way here. I have to wait to go on until I accomplish something. She didn't tell me what that was, but I'm starting to think it has something to do with one of you, maybe both.

"You're here now, so please keep your mouths shut and let me get this said-my companion told me the curse is broken. Don't let concerns about a curse affect your life decisions. It's done, over with. One less thing to worry about. Please tell my sister, dear, that's a very witchy job for you, isn't it?

"Scorpius, be careful with all that Druid knowledge. Don Juan has been in the literature. If you ask, I'm sure he'll send you a bibliography. That would save you a lot of time. Don't go experimenting. He's a shaman. Ask him if you don't believe me.

"Now," Astoria continued. "One last thing. Am I going to get my pyre?"

"Yes," Iolanthe answered. "Father and Grandfather Greengrass and James and all the outdoor elves worked on it until sundown. It's all ready for tomorrow morning."

"You're going up with the sun," Scorpius added.

"Perfect," said Astoria. "Make it spectacular."

"That can be arranged," Iolanthe assured her. Scorpius cast a little questioning look but didn't comment or ask what she meant.

"Don Juan," Scorpius said. "How can I contact you?"

"Do you still use owls for letters over there?" Don Juan asked. "Pick out a big one with some flying range and just send me a note to Don Juan, Las Cruces, New Mexico. I'll get it."

"Come on, Scorpius, we've got things to do," Iolanthe said, hopping up and standing on the edge of the mesa.

"Hope to see you soon, Mother," Scorpius said, obviously not really thinking through the implications.

"No rush," said Astoria.

"I think it was right here," said Iolanthe. "Merlin, we'll be back in that water. I hope I can get the smell off before September."

When Scorpius walked up to the edge, Iolanthe grabbed him by his upper arm and kept him going, right out into freefall, following as soon as the way was clear.

"DAMMIT, Malfoy!" clove the peaceful Devon twilight, as a human form was thrown up over the mill pond embankment and rolled to a stop near the sling chairs. This was followed by heavy splashing and the appearance of Iolanthe climbing out of the water.


	27. Chapter 27

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Astoria, Astoria

"All," Iolanthe greeted the assembly in the dooryard of the Mill.

"My letter," Scorpius said, some panic coming through. He jumped up and reached for the rear pocket of his trousers, coming up with a cream-colored envelope. He opened it and shook out the folded card inside.

"Whoo!" he said. The card was damp but the writing was intact. Scorpius held the card by a corner and fanned it rapidly, trying to dry it out just a bit faster.

"Iolanthe," said Daphne, in a variety of the professional, soothing tone she used with her patients. "One second you're sitting here talking and reminiscing, and the next you're in a millpond using rough language. Did you need to jump in after Scorpius? We've all had quite a turn, considering it appeared he just lost his footing and perhaps needed a hand up."

"It's alright, Aunt Daphne," Scorpius said. "Iolanthe thought it was worse than it was. It's good to know we can count on her, in a pinch."

"I'm going to splash in the clean water in the stream," Iolanthe announced. "Want to come? Leave anything you don't want to get wet here."

"We're going to clean up and then I need your help with something," Iolanthe said, when they got out of hearing range. She led the way to a spot on the millstream where a bend and a sandy bottom made a pool of clean, moving water.

"In," she ordered, after stepping out of her sandals.

"Hey! This is COLD!" Scorpius protested. Iolanthe just looked at him.

"All the way under," she said. Scorpius went down a little at a time.

"Just get in, Scorpius, you're acting like a Ravenclaw. It's just cold water," Iolanthe advised.

Something about being accused of Ravenclawism got through to Scorpius, and he held his breath and sat down in the pool. He sat there and sat there, then sat there some more, until Iolanthe took a fistful of his shirt and brought him up. Scorpius gave a good performance based on his impression of a man in severe distress, but Iolanthe did not find it credible.

"You're in luck, Scorpius," Iolanthe said as they climbed the stream bank.

"How so?" Scorpius asked as his teeth started chattering.

"I'm a witch, and I've got a wand," she said, casting a drying charm that started at Scorpius' feet and ended at the top of his head.

"Wow," was the most articulate thing Scorpius could come up with.

Iolanthe cast her drying charm on herself before heading back to the Mill.

"We have a debt to discharge," she said. "I'll explain on the way."

A considerable supply of leftovers still burdened the table under the arbor, among them a haunch of roast beef with the bone still in it. There wasn't that much meat left, but it was enough.

The remaining mourners were scattered around the Mill in little groups, telling stories and giving plenty of hugs. Daphne saw Iolanthe and Scorpius fidgeting around the table. Iolanthe wore a look her mother recognized as the signal that Iolanthe Astoria was primed to go off and be Iolanthe Astoria, so she left her alone. The next time she looked, Iolanthe and Scorpius were nowhere in sight.

Using _wingardium leviosa_ was technically contrary to the published regulations for the restriction of underage magic, but Iolanthe was in no mood for either regulations, or restrictions. She and Scorpius levitated the roast beef with the great leg bone and a platter of cold sliced meats, crossed Fabio and Harry's stone footbridge, and struck out overland.

"Where are we going?" Scorpius asked.

"We owe," Iolanthe said.

"Who?" Scorpius asked.

"Lots of…" Iolanthe began. "Your mother, for one. She broke the Davis curse. We're free, Scorpius, for the first time since it happened, our family won't live in fear that we, or our children, or someone we love, like your mother, will have a curse show up in them. Something they had nothing to do with that comes back to punish them because an ancestor did something someone didn't like."

"Makes sense," Scorpius said. "Are we going to make a burnt offering?"

"Something like that," Iolanthe said. "How's your magic holding out?"

"Strong enough, for a Ravenclaw," Scorpius said.

"I deserved that," said Iolanthe. "Can you forgive me?"

"Depends," said Scorpius.

"On what? This isn't about your love life, by any chance?" asked Iolanthe.

"We don't have a love life," Scorpius told her.

"Sure you do," Iolanthe told him. "Know how I know?"

"You're determined to tell me, aren't you?" asked Scorpius.

"You just used 'we' instead of 'I' which means you have had some kind of conversation with Rose 'about' the two of you," Iolanthe said. "About, meaning you, and Rose, have talked and the subject wasn't you, or her, or books, but the collective you as an entity outside your first persons singular."

"I don't know what you're talking about with all of that. That's not even a sentence," Scorpius protested.

"Scorpius, did you mention, perhaps in passing, that you like Rose?" Iolanthe asked, simplifying for the male mind.

"Might have, if it's any of your business," Scorpius replied, sounding just a little testy.

"And did Rose, just conversationally, acknowledge that she likes you?"

"That's between Rose, and me," Scorpius declared.

"And did the two of you agree you each have many more years of study ahead of you and you mustn't get distracted or carried away or start thinking about making plans together until you have a realistic chance of making a living, supporting yourselves, establishing a home…?"

"Iolanthe…" Scorpius tried.

"Scorpius…" Iolanthe came back. "Don't worry, Rose didn't break any confidences. Besides, she would probably have Mega-Merlin jinxed me if I even mentioned it. You have my blessing, if that is important to you. Don't be reckless with her affection, Scorpius. She'll be my cosmic twin for many centuries to come. Not that I'm anticipating you would do such a thing. Just treat this carefully, please? I love you both. That's all I've got to say, unless you want to go on."

Scorpius gave no indication he felt the need to explore his feelings for Rose with Iolanthe any further.

"How much more?" Scorpius asked.

"Can you make it to that little knob?"

"Sure," Scorpius said.

After a pause he added, "I didn't think we were that obvious."

Iolanthe left it alone, but she did keep her beef haunch aloft with her wand while the opposite hand found her cousin's upper arm in the starlight and gave it a good squeeze.

They didn't speak again until they reached the mound. Iolanthe put the beef down on the ground, after looking around in the starlight for the grassiest spot.

"Here's good. Go ahead and put your tray down," Iolanthe said.

The night was lit up with a jet of flame accompanied by a roar, like wind blended with thunder.

"Stay here and be quiet," Iolanthe said, walking down the slope toward a clump of brushy plants.

Iolanthe switched to parseltongue, confusing Scorpius even more.

"North Star, it's me, Iolanthe," she said. "I've come to check on you. We have some food up on that little knob. Can we bring it down?"

"Iolanthe," said the dragon. "I'm glad you made yourself known. I nearly, ah, shed some light, to see who was walking up on us."

"Us? Then Astoria Iolanthe is well?" Iolanthe asked.

"Yes, thank you," said the dragon. "All due to the kindness of some strangers who happened along."

"That's good," said Iolanthe. "Now, how about some food? My cousin is up there. He doesn't speak the sacred tongue, but he's quite adept at labor."

"We'll be grateful for anything," said North Star. "I think I'll be flying tomorrow. I hope so, anyway."

"Well, then, let's get you and Astoria through the night," Iolanthe said, then, in English, "Scorpius, please bring that tray down."

"Iolanthe?" Scorpius said.

"It's fine, Scorpius, levitate that tray and just walk it down here," Iolanthe said.

Scorpius didn't have anything more to say, so he complied with Iolanthe's wishes. The tray was large, and still had a selection of sliced meats, little sausages and one or two boiled potatoes. He picked his way down the hill in the dark to the shadowy star-lit lumps at the bottom. Once there, he lowered the tray to the ground, right in front of a baby dragon.

"Okay, now the roast," Iolanthe said.

Scorpius gave her a look, but in the starlight the full ramifications didn't come through. In any event, he did what he was told, and soon had the big beef joint and the residual roast that still clung to it sitting on the tray before the dragons.

"Stay here," Iolanthe said to Scorpius in English.

"Have you tried the wing?" Iolanthe asked, returning to parseltongue.

"One time around this field," said the dragon. "It's almost there. We heal fast."

"This is my cousin," Iolanthe said. "His mother died earlier today. That was my Auntie Astoria."

She explained the arrangements for the morning, and went over her plan, assuming North Star thought she could do it.

"All set," Iolanthe said to Scorpius, bouncing to her feet before reaching down for his hand. "Think you can find our way back?"

"Merlin, Iolanthe," Scorpius said. "One, NO. Two, if I'd known that was part of the deal…"

"See the direction the Milky Way runs?" Iolanthe asked. "It was on our right coming out, keep it on our left going back. Take over. I won't let you get too far off. Take us back. It's good practice. No _lumos_. Navigate."

"Okay, but practice for what?" Scorpius asked.

"Contingencies," said Iolanthe. "Don't be such a bookworm."

"But I am a bookworm," Scorpius muttered, more to himself than to Iolanthe.

Astoria was still sitting with Don Juan looking across the desert from the top of the New Mexican mesa.

"I like it here," she said. "We have views from mountain tops and seascapes and that sort of thing, but nothing like this. Does anyone live around here?"

Don Juan took his time before answering.

"Strictly speaking, no," he said. "The reason being, this is all in my mind. You figured that out when your son and niece were here. I've been shamaning for fifty years and going into my trances, so it makes sense this was all built up over that time. The mesa was all by itself in the beginning, someplace to sit that was more interesting than a tree stump. Then little bits of detail got added whenever I came back. Now you've given me an knotty shaman technical problem—is the creator's construct restricting the range of the creator's skills in this world? All of those things we're looking at are artifacts I collected in my travels in the rational world. I'm remembering now, the flats down there were from a picture post card I sent to my grad students from Death Valley. It all crept in so stealthily I wasn't even aware."

Don Juan lapsed into silence while he stared out over his abyss.

"I thought I was done when the children left, but no Hera," Daphne said. "I suppose time is irrelevant, if one is working with eternity."

Don Juan heard her but had to hold onto her implied question in another compartment of his brain while he considered his own dilemma.

Their conversations divided, but stayed parallel.

"If I come here and go back with a possible answer, is my result the product of the environment or my skill and experience?" Don Juan asked.

"I wonder what Iolanthe meant when she said something spectacular could be arranged?" Astoria responded.

"If my client gets a usable response, is that the measure of an effective shaman, or is a better result possible through a fresher methodology?"

This went on for too long, if judging by the quality of information exchanged, but it was a shaman and a dead person chatting, so who could say how much good information would turn out to be there for future reference?

When Scorpius navigated them back to the Mill, Iolanthe went straight up to Draco and gave him a hug.

"How are you, Uncle Draco?" she asked.

"I'm standing here talking to a wonderful Slytherin wearing a crown of fairies," Draco said. "Under the circumstances, I'm as well as can be expected."

Iolanthe slid her arm under Draco's and led him over to the bench near the front door of the Mill. She sat down, more or less pulling Draco down with her. She saw Scorpius looking their way and motioned with her head for him to sit down on the other side.

"I'm going to have to go get cleaned up and changed," Iolanthe said. "I'll come back. We'll have to take turns. We can't let her be lonely tonight, but we all need to be fresh for the morning."

"Thank-you," Draco said. "You young people are really showing us something. Seriously. James was working everyone into the ground when they were building Astoria's pyre. Scorpius kept me upright when we were meeting everyone inside."

"Scorpius is quite remarkable," Iolanthe agreed. "Did you and Auntie sit on the bench often, when you stayed here?"

"Every time," Draco said. "Now that we're sitting here, it brings it all back, almost like I can sense her at times."

Iolanthe sat there, her arm under Draco's, and Scorpius' over Draco's shoulder. James emerged from a group of people in the dark and sat beside Iolanthe.

"Tired?" Iolanthe asked. "I hear you outworked everyone else."

"Maybe," James said. He yawned and considered. "Yes, I think I did."

"Good man, James," Scorpius said.

"I need to go home and clean up," Iolanthe said to James. "Do you want me to take you back? You can take a bath and get in your jams and go to sleep. We'll make sure you get back here in the morning."

Daphne and Harry were consulted, duties sorted, and Harry took Iolanthe and James back to the manor. After some back and forth, a stable, freshened-up group was back at the Mill by midnight. Kendra found herself sitting up all night once again, with Daphne, and Iolanthe, this time keeping watch over Astoria. The recollection of her vigil in St. Jerome's was inevitable.

Daphne had heard the story before, but it was new to Iolanthe. Kendra waited until only the three of them were inside with Astoria. Iolanthe and Daphne kept Kendra between them, arms over her shoulders, each one taking a hand. Kendra experienced her heart breaking all over again, twice this time, for Lily and Astoria, but Daphne and Iolanthe somehow made it bearable.

After the tears dried, Daphne broke the silence.

"We'll have to act like grownup witches," she said. "Astoria would not like to see us carrying on like this."

"Mother," Iolanthe said. "There is something I need to pass on. I don't understand it, but maybe you can help me. When Scorpius and I went into the millpond, we found ourselves under some thick blue goo, like gelatin that hasn't quite set. We had to swim to the surface, and I got him out and climbed up just like we did there on the bank of the pond, only we were on a cliff, in some desert, in America."

Daphne sat upright at the mention of the thick blue goo.

"Go ahead," she said.

"Well, Auntie Astoria was there. We talked to her," Iolanthe said.

"Was there anyone else?" Daphne asked.

"Yes, an elderly man in old blue jeans and a white shirt. Don Juan. He's a shaman, but he's also a scholar. He says he's met Father," Iolanthe finished up.

"Did your aunt say what she was doing there?" Daphne asked, considering every word.

"She died, and her escort to the next world brought her there to wait for something, or accomplish something, then they were going on," Iolanthe said. "She shushed us so she could tell us the Davis curse is broken. It is no more. I'm supposed to bring that back to you, by order of Auntie Astoria. She said it was a witchy job to give me."

Daphne looked between Kendra and Iolanthe. Kendra looked between Iolanthe and Daphne.

"That is very significant information, dear," said Kendra. "You're sure it was Aunt Astoria?"

"Oh, yes," Iolanthe said. "She was in her blue caftan, which she was wearing this morning when we read _The Odyssey_. Scorpius was there, like I said. She told us about the curse, then she introduced Scorpius to Don Juan, who has read all the literature on the Druids, which of course is of interest to Scorpius, with Merlin and all. She even volunteered Don Juan, kind of without asking, to send his Druid bibliography to Scorpius, to save him time. "

Kendra stared at Daphne, an air of expectancy thick between them.

Daphne stared at the flagstone floor, shaking her head a little.

"When Harry and I were in New York, when you were a baby, Iolanthe, we were cornered in our hotel room by a criminal who wanted an item Harry was carrying. It was all very need-to-know at the time, but Harry was the courier, the item was a decoy, and the ministry had set it all up to try to find a leak. The item carried a spell that booby-trapped it, and Harry tricked the man who was trying to steal it into triggering the spell. He got me out of the way, and he went somewhere. The blue gelatin was between this world, or plane or reality, and another one. He met Don Juan on that side and they kind of hit it off. He came back to our hotel, we turned the criminal over to the New York aurors, and the next day, at Princeton, he and Robert Goldstein were locking the thing up when a faculty member tried to steal it, and Harry got her to trigger the spell, and he and Robert went through the blue gel again, only this time they met Don Juan in a little pub in Las Cruces. They were sitting there listening to a band from Texas and drinking beer from bottles when I got to the lab. I just got enough of a look at them in the pub to have a memory of it, before we were back in Robert's lab calling the campus security auror."

Kendra and Iolanthe both sat there, staring at Daphne.

"That was the time…" Kendra started to say.

"That the patronus came and got me and brought me back to Harry," Daphne finished.

"I've never heard the whole story," Kendra said.

"Like I said, the whole thing was very hush-hush," Daphne said. "The minister complimented us on the successful completion of 'the operation' as he always referred to it. He didn't like my sticking my nose in but he admitted the improvisation was key to the successful outcome. The guy in New York had been a criminal for thirty years, and never served a day in jail. The professor at Princeton was a sleeper agent, activated just to steal our cargo."

They had been talking so long the candles were starting to gutter. There was a huge supply laid on, so Kendra and Iolanthe got up to replace the ones that had burned out.

Daphne left the main room for the Baths. Kendra turned to Iolanthe.

"How did you find her? Your aunt?" Kendra asked.

"Just like always. No different. She asked if she was going to get her pyre, and we both assured her she was. She said, 'Make it spectacular.'

"How do we do that? Whatever did she mean?" Kendra asked.

"I had one idea. You'll see," said Iolanthe.

Hera walked up to Astoria and touched her shoulder.

"OH!" said Astoria. "I didn't know you were back. You missed meeting my son and my niece. They were just here, but they've gone back now."

"Oh, they are the talk of Olympus, dear," said Hera. "Your niece is mastering magic far beyond her years. And that son of yours, my word, we have to put him in touch with some of our historians. He can make some real contributions, with a little encouragement and the right contacts. His work with the Glott manuscript is rippling outward already. If he completes the project he's contemplating, he'll be famous, at least among the specialists."

Don Juan, who'd had his own experiences with the academic specialists, looked at Hera and smiled.

"Madam," Don Juan said. "May I invite you to share our mesa? It is a bit spare, compared to one of your classical temples, but elegant in its own way."

"I'd love to, Don Juan, and I'd love to continue the philosophical discussion you were laying out," Hera said. "It will have to be another time, I'm afraid, because our young heroine here needs to be conveyed to her next stop. Keep an eye out for a woman in purple at your bar and grill. I have developed a love for those bands from Texas."

"So we're off?" asked Astoria.

"Oh, yes," said Hera, "I think you'll like this part."

Hera took Astoria's hand and slipped it under her arm, escorting her into what appeared to be a classical temple, with lots of Doric columns holding up pediments. In the center there was an oblong pool of water. Hera escorted Astoria to the marble surround and let her look down into the water. A little breeze sent ripples across the surface. When they settled down, Astoria looked down on the Mill. She could just make out the arbor, the pyre, and the silhouette of the Mill, a little glow coming from the windows. The millpond looked silvery in the starlit night. She noticed some movement across the stream and down the slope on the far side, but she couldn't tell what it was.

"Almost time," Kendra said. "How are we doing?"

"All set," said Millicent. "We have eight, with Pansy and me."

Millicent Bulstrode had worked the floo system with Pansy Parkinson throughout the evening, contacting Slytherin witches from Astoria's time at Hogwarts to serve as pallbearers.

"That's just wonderful, Professor," Kendra said. "That's so impressive, especially considering how the young people were so scattered around that time."

Left unsaid was the detail that so many of the Slytherins were in the ranks of the Dark Army. They were scattered because they'd wisely repaired to cottages in forests or on obscure, unnamed islets and lived quiet lives that kept them out of Azkaban. Even so, a few hours at the floo and some Bulstrode persuasion shook enough loose to make up a respectable escort.

It was July, and dawn would come early, so friends and family began arriving around four a.m. Blaise and Zelda floo'd to Potter Manor, had tea and muffins with Tracey, and walked together to the Mill.

"Mother, would you mind if I go check on something for a few minutes?" Iolanthe asked.

"No, that's fine, Iolanthe," Daphne said. "You've been wonderful company tonight. Do whatever you need to do."

Iolanthe hugged Daphne, then Kendra, and left them in the main room with Astoria and the old friends who had come in ones and twos through the wee hours.

Outside, Iolanthe quickly found Harry sitting on the bench with Draco and Scorpius.

"Father, can we…?" Iolanthe asked, walking up and indicating she wanted to talk.

"The pyre will need lighting," Iolanthe observed.

"It will," Harry said. "I have a wand, that I expected to use. Are you advising me I won't be needed?"

"As usual Father, you're too smart for any of us," Iolanthe said.

"So astute," Harry responded. "What do you have in mind?"

Iolanthe outlined her plan, finishing with a request that Harry get help in keeping the area around the pyre clear of bystanders. Harry studied Iolanthe's face. He concluded she really thought she could do it. Beyond that, he decided if Iolanthe Astoria thought she could do it, his best course of action was to facilitate whatever Iolanthe Astoria wanted.

The congregation of witches and wizards had assembled in the dooryard of the Mill by the time the first rosy streaks appeared in the eastern sky. The light got stronger by the minute. Kendra, Draco and Daphne took a collective decision that it was time to move Astoria's body to the pyre. Kendra cast an enlargement charm on the door. Everyone held their breath while they assessed the structural integrity of the Mill, but the magic held, and so did the supporting walls.

Millicent and Pansy formed up their honor guard of pallbearers and gave careful instructions for levitating the pallet on which Astoria rested. The sheer sheet came up with Astoria and the witches walked slowly out the door and across the dooryard to the pyre.

Harry had spoken to Blaise about Iolanthe's plan, and asked his help in keeping a generous space around the pyre. Millicent's witches raised their wands and carefully placed Astoria atop the great mound of firewood. None of Astoria's close family members thought they would be able to get through a simple eulogy without breaking down, so Bill Weasley read one drafted by Harry and Fabio, then made some brief remarks about what joy Astoria had brought everyone over the years.

Iolanthe kept an eye on the horizon and listened closely for cues in Bill Weasley's eulogy. When the first thin section of the sun's edge appeared, Bill Weasley concluded his remarks.

"Get them back, Father," Iolanthe said, drawing her wand as she headed toward the stone bridge. She stopped at the apex of the arch and put the wand to her throat.

"GORR!" she called out and the sound of great fans beating the air started up, becoming louder and louder as the dragon rose up into the air and flew toward the Mill.

Iolanthe turned around and joined the ring of mourners that Blaise had pushed well back from the pyre. Gorr, or North Star, circled the Mill and plotted her trajectory. She dipped one wing, lowered her head, straightened out and dove for the pyre. She passed by, turned her head and blew flame from her nostrils. Mother dragons, like some crocodiles and fish, can take their babies into their mouths to escape danger. As Gorr flew by, Iolanthe saw little Astoria Iolanthe's nostrils protruding from her mother's mouth, adding her own little flames to the effort.

Gorr flapped her wings, gained altitude, turned and dove a second time, on the opposite side of her first pass, again blowing great gouts of dragon flames at the dry wood of Astoria's pyre. The second treatment had the entire structure of the pyre fully involved, the flames engulfing the top layer, and Astoria, lending some privacy to the final moments of her body's physical existence. Witches and wizards began pointing their wands toward the sky and sending up great sparking salutes to Astoria.

"Astoria!" Daphne shouted in farewell.

"Astoria!" Kendra and Fabio agreed.

"Astoria! Astoria!" answered the assembly.

Iolanthe stood holding Scorpius' hand, on the side opposite Rose, and asked, "Spectacular?"


	28. Chapter 28

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The Plot to Save Scorpius

The mourners stayed until the pyre burned down to coals. Harry and Fabio had detailed elves to bring rakes and shovels from the garden sheds. Volunteers stepped up to keep pushing the coals, glowing dull red now, toward the center of the fire.

Mrs. Davis, Kendra's mother, had decreed that she would attend Astoria's farewell, and ordered some of the Davis's to deal with it. They'd done a very credible job, putting her in her favorite wing chair, with some security measures to keep her there, then transporting the whole combination to The Mill by apparation.

The Potter elves were all at the manor, along with Melon, and had prepared breakfast for the families, visitors and neighbors. Nearly everyone walked back to the manor, although Grandmother Davis was levitated in her chair which became a kind of magical sedan and spared her the trek.

The Potters had put up a marquee on the patio for a buffet, and guests filled plates with mixed fresh fruit salad, scrambled eggs and toasted muffins before wandering out, circulating, and joining groups of Astoria's friends and relatives for reminiscences and swapping of the inexhaustible supply of Astoria tales.

Tracey and Zelda seemed to be everywhere. It was they who had organized the elves, gotten the marquee for the patio, liaised with Seamus and Dean for some no-notice support, and generally turned the household into a hospitality machine.

Tracey had even given Seamus and Dean some sketchy instructions via owl for some little black jars in royal blue boxes that closely matched Astoria's caftan. Seamus and Dean managed to fill the order, no one knew how. As the ashes from the pyre cooled, the volunteers filled the jars with ash, and the boxed jars were placed on a table near the front door of Potter Manor, for anyone to take, according to Astoria's wishes.

Grandmother Davis sat in her chair at Potter Manor, keeping track of everything. She was closely attended by generations of her descendants, but doted especially on James and Zelda. Iolanthe, also a Tracey-trained hostess, made sure her great-grandmother always had at least one acolyte beside her, ready to hold a hand or bring another cup of yellow label tea.

Iolanthe waited for things to quiet down and the crowd to thin before strolling over to the woods. She asked for Plum, who showed up almost immediately after her arrival. Plum was detailed to pass the word to the rest of the woodland creatures that they were welcome to come to the manor for breakfast. It wasn't obligatory, considering there were large numbers of humans milling about, and not every woodland creature had had good experiences with those. Before they were finished, Iolanthe had collected enough bowtruckles for both shoulders and all of her pockets.

Iolanthe asked Tracey and Daphne to sit with their grandmother so she could conscript Zelda and James for something. She had them fill plates for the creatures, like Plum, who couldn't reach the buffet. Then she took orders for those who didn't want to come quite so close to the collected wizards and witches, and had James and Zelda walk those over to the woods.

The whole exercise took about thirty minutes. When Iolanthe got back to Grandmother Davis she asked some of the other Davis clan to sit with her and rounded up Kendra, Fabio, Tracey, Daphne, Draco and Scorpius.

"What?" asked Daphne.

"Just come to the garden," Iolanthe said.

She got the group together at the far end of the last bed, the one furthest away from the house.

"I'm told someone wants to convey condolences," Iolanthe announced before kneeling down. There was a little rustling in the tall grass on the border of the bed. Iolanthe put her hand down and stood up with an adder. She held both hands in front of her so the adder would feel comfortable and secure, then she began translating.

"We understand The Protector's beloved aunt has died," the adder began.

"The snakes appreciated her, while she lived," he continued. "No snake could be found that she had stepped on. That is significant for a human.

"The snakes want her husband and son, and the other members of her family to know we share their grief," the adder concluded.

When Iolanthe finished translating for the adder, she looked at Draco.

It took a moment for Draco to collect his thoughts, him not being accustomed to conversing with adders, but he managed to begin.

"The snakes have our thanks for their heartfelt sympathies," Draco said, and waited for Iolanthe's translation.

"We all loved her very much."

Iolanthe knelt when she'd finished and gently put the adder back on the ground.

"Off someplace," she continued in parseltongue. "A little more secure. There are too many human feet today."

No one had left, but all stood around, eyes on Iolanthe. No one knew what they'd just witnessed, or just what one said at such a time.

"Aren't they sweet?" Iolanthe asked as she took Daphne's hand and started up the path to the manor. "No one expected them to do that, they just reached out and made the effort."

Once the adder had slithered off Iolanthe's bowtruckles began to emerge from their hiding places about her person. Whenever Iolanthe hosted bowtruckles she allowed them free range, which inevitably meant three or four would meet at her neck and begin braiding her platinum hair. The bowtruckles did wonderful braiding, although they did have a taste for inserting random twigs with little green leaves in the strands. Iolanthe the magical naturalist liked the way it looked.

Iolanthe found her way back to her great-grandmother, now being attended by Narcissa, Andromeda, and Kendra. Madam Davis sat dispensing opinions on a succession of her favorite topics, primarily skeptical observations on Americans, the Ministry of Magic, and the current state of Diagon Alley. Daphne gravitated over and Iolanthe gave up her chair, sitting on the floor, her back against Daphne's legs. Gradually, Iolanthe began to grasp the meaning of her great-grandmother's presence, and her performance.

Great-grandmother Davis had maintained her mental, thinking self with lots of poetry, conversation, and eschewing of excesses of any kind. She even limited her yellow label tea. Her physical plant, though, was feeling the years. Even for witches, long life is a genetic lottery. None are guaranteed one hundred years, much less two hundred. Great-grandmother Davis, it became apparent, was passing the torch.

Rose sat down next to Iolanthe. She was wearing a long, loose, black skirt, that permitted her to sit with crossed legs. Zelda showed up and Rose motioned for her to sit on her lap. For an hour and more, Great-grandmother Davis held forth, going from subject to subject, reciting genealogies, reminiscing about long-dead Hogwarts professors, telling cautionary tales of love-addled witches who got involved with handsome, charming, yet feckless wizards despite the sage advice of their elders, and unburdening herself of all the information the young witches would need to make sense of the world as they carried magical Britain forward.

Kendra and Narcissa acted as informal mistresses of ceremony, nodding and making little murmurs of agreement here and there, supplying a word when Madame Davis came up short, inserting a question to keep the discussion on track. Iolanthe, Rose and Zelda sat quietly, mesmerized by the older witches' presence and obvious deference to the _grande dame's_ virtuoso performance. They could sense the gravity, and that they were privileged beyond any form of reason to be favored with her presence at Astoria's farewell.

Kendra kept an eye on her mother. She and Daphne, in fact, had been making eye contact with each other throughout Madame Davis's oration, lifting an eyebrow, giving little questioning head tilts. Daphne didn't see any signs of distress, so she was inclined to let her grandmother keep going. The younger witches present might have need to hark back, someday, and draw on the time Grandmother Davis showed everyone How It Is Done.

The Davis clan had been watching Kendra for a signal that it was probably about time for farewells. Kendra reached over and took her mother's hand.

"Another cup of tea, Mother?" she asked.

"Oh, no, Kendra, I'm lucky I'm still in control of what I've already taken on," she said, with a cackle.

Narcissa and Andromeda nodded and agreed.

"Oh, yes, I know all about that," one said.

"Tell me about it," the other answered.

Daphne stood up.

"Should we do something about that, Grandmother Davis?" she asked.

"Oh, probably," said Madame Davis. "Luckily, I have my own healer to look after me."

Madame Davis had never tired of dropping references about her granddaughter, Healer Daphne, even among family who had heard it hundreds of times. Kendra took one side and Daphne the other, and they escorted Madame down the hall.

"Your home is lovely, Daphne," Madame remarked. "And Lawrence's paintings work so well here."

"Thank-you, Grandmother Davis, we feel honored to have them. I was born into a wonderful, stimulating, talented family," Daphne replied.

"I'm glad you think so," Madame Davis continued. "You and that Potter may have outdone us all, though. I was watching Iolanthe today. Remarkable young witch."

"Thank-you again," Daphne said with near-gushiness. "We certainly think so. And here we are."

The crowd had thinned significantly by the time Kendra and Daphne got Madame Davis back to her wing chair, which had been moved to the patio to facilitate the walk to the reveling ground and an easy trip by apparation back to Davis Manor. The Potter-Greengrass extended family and friends still made for a quarter-hour or more of farewells. Madame Davis sat back in her chair, extending her hand, receiving curtsies from the young witches, and generally relishing doing her duty as the presiding officer of her clan, come to treat with her peers.

James, Scorpius, Zelda and Iolanthe came together and dispensed a group hug, complete with kisses and expressions of love and thanks for coming. The tough old lady was streaming tears when her great-grands all stepped back to say good-bye.

No one said it because it didn't need saying, but it was obvious that Grandmother Davis had drawn on some reserve of strength and will to get to Astoria's spectacular dawn funeral, to preside over a lengthy _al fresco_ buffet, and to hold court surrounded by a roomful of formidable witches in their own right, dispensing the wisdom of decades wrapped in a performance masterwork outshining the best male _Lears_.

That summer was the start of countless repetitions of "Remember the time Grandmother Davis…" introducing an anecdote about a certain look she gave, or an opinion she delivered. Iolanthe, Rose and Zelda could quote her years later, word for word.

After the funeral, summer plans were adjusted according to the new, post-Astoria reality. Iolanthe was aware Astoria was failing, but her attitude was so positive her sudden death was a great shock. Before everyone had broken up and left Potter Manor, Rose had pulled Iolanthe aside in the garden and said one word:

"Scorpius."

"I know," Iolanthe almost wailed. "I can't help but wonder about his 'slip' into the millpond. We have to be very careful, Rose. We can't let him think we have him on some kind of suicide watch. That might be the very thing that puts an idea in his head."

"What do you want to do?" Rose asked.

"We'll keep an eye on him. Your parents will have a panic attack if you start going to Malfoy Manor every day," Iolanthe observed. "I'll handle the home visits. We'll have to cram on Merlin. Do you have any Latin?"

"Not really. I'll get a Latin-English dictionary from Flourish and Blotts' and get started," Rose said.

"To the extent possible, I believe we should make Tracey our cutout," Iolanthe said. "We'll get him over here for tea and some lane-strolling, but we can multiply our contacts if Tracey cooperates and invites us all for a day of Diagon Alley or a treat at Fortescue's, then we can suggest a dip into Muggle-dom and the British Museum or a library stop, for Merlin research. We'll just be helping with his project."

"Too brilliant," Rose concurred.

"I'll get started on compromising Tracey," Iolanthe said. "She's a born conspirator. Shouldn't be difficult."

Rose and Iolanthe hadn't been paying a lot of attention to where they were going and saw Narcissa, Scorpius and Draco ahead just in time to pinch off their plotting and light up in smiles.

"Ladies," said Narcissa and Draco, almost as one.

"Iolanthe. Rosie," said Scorpius.

"Everyone," Rose and Iolanthe returned.

"Strolling?" Iolanthe asked.

"We're available," Rose added, "If needed."

Something about Rose and her comments struck a sympathetic chord in Narcissa. She reached out and pulled Rose to her, leaving her arm around her waist. When she was young, Narcissa's sister Bellatrix had been very much like Rose. Smart, funny, highly-skilled—nearly everyone liked being around Bellatrix. She and her husband, though, had fallen completely under the spell of Voldemort, earning her some years in Azkaban prison. When Voldemort got his strength back and staged a breakout from Azkaban, Bellatrix came out a complete fanatic. Azkaban and the dementors had done their work, and Bellatrix was not fun to be around, ever again.

Astoria had been very fond of Narcissa. Once they accepted her as a suitable match for Draco, she loved being around the Malfoys, rehabilitated miscreants though they were. Narcissa didn't have a lot of close friends. She had been much too visible standing by her Death Eater husband during Voldemort's second bid for power. When she let her mind wander, Narcissa admitted the Malfoys were heavily indebted to Harry Potter, who had put an end to Voldemort and demanded the ministry show mercy to the genuinely contrite. Beyond that, she was personally beholden to Harry, Lord Black, who had brought about the reconciliation with her sister Andromeda.

Now the wheel turned again. Narcissa's grandson Scorpius was in some kind of relationship with Rose Granger-Weasley, something that appeared to Narcissa to be beyond a classmate friendship. He called her Rosie. Narcissa wasn't aware anyone called Rose Rosie. She'd never heard of it, if anyone did.

Narcissa couldn't help wondering, wishing, in fact, if Rose, with her magical abilities and intelligence and highly polished sense of humor, might be seen at Malfoy Manor now and then, if that were not Narcissa being too bold. Of course, if Rose's mother wouldn't hear of it, that would be perfectly understandable. One could only hope.

"Iolanthe, as long as we're all here, I have to tell you, bringing a dragon in to light that pyre…" Draco said. "Needless to say…"

Draco left two consecutive sentences drift off.

"It was spectacular, wasn't it?" Scorpius asked.

Draco and Narcissa turned to look at Scorpius.

"It was," Draco said. "I think she'd have liked it."

"Thank-you for saying so," Iolanthe said. "The dragon was available, and agreeable. Anything for Auntie Astoria."

The emotion of the previous forty-eight hours was beginning to get to Iolanthe. She had never used her magic to play for stakes so high. Her energy was beginning to flag, and she felt it. Tears began to run down her cheeks. She let them go. Scorpius handed her a handkerchief.

"I brought several," he said, "So I know this is a clean one."

Something in the way he said it got to Rose and Iolanthe, and they began giggling, Iolanthe through her tears.

They got back to the patio and saw that the elves had disassembled the buffet and taken down the marquee. Patio furniture was back in place, and Iolanthe announced she was in need of a few minutes' contemplation of the Dart. Draco and Narcissa began to think of going home, and headed inside to find Kendra and Daphne.

Rose took the opportunity to pull Scorpius over to the corner of the patio, next to one of the ornamental urns.

"It was sweet when you called me Rosie," she said, "henceforth, can you use it for an audience of one?"

"You mean, you, don't you?" Scorpius said.

"Uh-huh," Rose said, "If you would. Please."

"I'll try to remember," Scorpius said.

"Oh, I'm so proud of you, Scorpius," Rose said. "I didn't even have to use Aunt Ginny's bat bogey hex to get you to see things my way."

Scorpius was still pondering Rose's words of wisdom when Draco came over.

"Mother and I have said our good-byes," Draco said. "If you don't want to come with us, you can floo over later."

"I'll come," Scorpius said. "Rose."

"Scorpius," Rose said.

Draco turned away and Rose touched Scorpius' cheek with her fingertips, not breaking eye contact.

"See you soon," Rose said, just for Scorpius.

Rose left for the Granger-Weasleys soon after the Malfoys departed. Iolanthe and Rose made plans for a good floo-call session first thing in the morning. They'd fill in any unanticipated gaps with an owl, if necessary.

Iolanthe took Astoria's leather-bound Fitzgerald translation to her room. The outside air cooled right down at sunset, and Iolanthe opened her windows before rinsing off the day's dust with a shower and putting on some flannel pajamas. She lay down and opened Astoria's Odyssey and was sound asleep in minutes. Iolanthe slept straight through until the sun began blasting her face through her east-facing window. Iolanthe had been in such deep sleep she took close to a minute to determine where she was and what she had been doing for the past three days. She picked up The Odyssey from her pillow and clutched it to her heart. She thought of Auntie Astoria off in some place, like the Underworld, with no one from the family to talk to or go shopping or to lunch with, and she started to cry.

When Iolanthe remembered her trip to Don Juan's mesa, and the talk she and Scorpius had had with Astoria, she began to feel better. The mesa wasn't too bad. It wasn't at all like she'd imagined the Underworld. Astoria hadn't seemed abused or distressed. She'd even given a quasi-instruction for her final farewell.

"Spectacular," Iolanthe thought. Then she remembered Daphne relating the wisdom Astoria had not just spoken, but shown, with her will and personality and physical being: "Counting is not living."

Iolanthe bounded out of bed and did her morning rituals, emerging onto the patio in her workout clothes. She had a routine in mind, but she was going to keep to a tight schedule. If she couldn't get everything in, she'd adjust the program. Iolanthe jogged over to the green where the woodlanders reveled and pantomimed. When she had run through what she considered a minimal morning session, she picked up her watch from the edge of the green. Five minutes over, she noted, and resolved to pick up the pace next day.

Iolanthe always remembered Harry's rule to take the time to cool down properly. She kept a medium walking pace back to the patio, where Harry and Daphne were emerging from the house carrying coffee cups.

"Shower," Iolanthe said as they passed. "Be right back."

Iolanthe didn't see anyone until she got to the second floor corridor. James was up there, bare-chested, walking up and down the hallway in his pajama bottoms, gleefully awaiting the look on Iolanthe's face when she realized his feet remained about six inches off the floor.

"I'm taller than you!" James pointed out, discounting any notion of cheating.

"James," Iolanthe said. "James. If you get my meaning? Hmm?"

James settled back to the floor, noiselessly.

"Spoilsport," he said.

"How do you even know what a spoilsport is?" Iolanthe asked. "Where did you hear that word?"

"I don't know," James said. "The words are there, and we hear them. That's how it works."

Iolanthe could not think of a rational response, and James had used spoilsport correctly, so she changed tack.

"Wash up, brush your teeth, put on some clean clothes and we'll have ourselves a family breakfast together on the patio," Iolanthe directed. James didn't look really pleased with his instructions, but he didn't seem displeased to the point of rebellion, either.

"Mother and Father are down there already. I sensed they're just dying to see you."

Iolanthe had lots of experience compressing the time she needed for freshening up. She was back in the corridor in no time, expecting to see James headed downstairs. Iolanthe was nearly on the stairs when she heard a door open, and James came out into the hall. He was wearing the same pajama bottoms and a t-shirt with a grass stain on the shoulder.

"No."

"Iolanthe, you can't tell me what to do!" James advised his sister. "Besides, you're not MUM!"

The irrefutable logic of the sub-teenage male notwithstanding, Iolanthe held her ground, pointing back down the hallway for emphasis.

"Do it right, or prepare for me to come in there and wash you and dress you, James Greengrass Potter," Iolanthe ordered, reverting to her leadership position among the Hogwarts Blacks, which James would be joining in September. James' face said he didn't like it, but he knew when he was beaten. He turned back to the bathroom. Water ran, then stopped. James popped out of the bath, shirtless, and went back into his room. Before long he was back, defiance showing in his stride, wearing clean jeans and a short-sleeved shirt with the tail hanging loose. He was still barefoot.

"James, you look one hundred percent better," Iolanthe said. "Thank you for doing that. Careful on the stairs."

"Stairs," James said, dismissing the very idea.

James stepped off the top step and glided down next to Iolanthe. He looked extremely pleased with himself, but he was determined not to be the one to call attention to his magical discovery. That was for Iolanthe to do, including appropriate obeisance before her younger, yet, somehow, superior brother.

At the bottom of the stairs, Iolanthe reached up and around and pulled James to her. There was a little resistance, initially, but Iolanthe worked out every day, including lots and lots of pushups, and she was strong. Iolanthe and James walked into the cloakroom off the foyer, and Iolanthe closed the door.

"James," she began. "I love and respect you, so hold that thought while I tell you that being a show-off is not how you want to conduct yourself at Hogwarts. You're smart, obviously highly skilled, and you're very good company. Just lower the intensity, please? You don't have to impress me. I'm already impressed."

"Fine," James said. "I just wanted you to see it."

"I know," Iolanthe said. "Don't forget though, I see it every day. You don't even have to work at it. Not for me, anyway. What are you having for breakfast?"

Iolanthe and James walked down the hallway toward the back of the house, the patio, the gardens, and the vista between Potter Manor and the River Dart.

Iolanthe had gone inside quickly on their earlier meeting, so she planted her ritual kiss on Daphne's cheek with a greeting of 'Mother' then proceeded to give Harry his hug, as she had seen Daphne do countless times with the Greengrass's. She pulled out a chair between Harry and Daphne and motioned James to take it, pushing it up beneath him as James sat down. Melon appeared at James' elbow.

"Melon!" James said. "I didn't know you were here. Are you going to stay with us?"

"Melon doesn't know," said the elf with a bit of anxiety in her voice.

"Melon is going to be with us a little while," Daphne said. "Periwinkle had some family responsibilities to attend to, and Melon needs to keep busy right now, so we're going to help her while she grieves for your Aunt Astoria."

"Master James can make as big a mess as he likes and Melon with be happy to take care of it," said the elf. "What would Master James and Miss Iolanthe like for breakfast?"

Orders were given and filled. The Potters spooned up porridge and mixed fruit, buttered muffins, ordered refills of their mango-orange juices, and generally took their time over breakfast. No one seemed in a great rush to start life without the prospect of seeing Astoria before the day was over.

Three quick 'pops' sounded from the green, which usually indicated someone familiar with Potter Manor had arrived. Harry looked around to see Teddy and two elves walking toward the patio.

"Teddy Lupin! Just in time for breakfast," Harry said. "Sit down, what would the elves like this morning?"

"I've eaten but I could take another coffee," Teddy said. "Master gardeners? Did you hear Mr. Potter? Anything from the kitchen?"

"Porridge, mixed fruit and muffins are ready," said Melon. "We can make whatever you want but it will take a little longer."

The elves looked at each other.

"Sure!" they said together.

"What you said," the smaller one told Melon.

"Small portions, please, we've come to work," said the other.

Melon brought out some little bowls of porridge and mixed fruit, and half a muffin each. The elves took their breakfast and sat down in the shade of the garden shed.

"What's up, Teddy?" asked Harry.

"There are some herbs down there that I took the liberty of planting when I didn't have room anywhere else," Teddy said. "Mr. Greengrass told me about them. They aren't that common and always seem to move at the magical markets. These will need thinning, and if the elves are careful, we can take the culls back and set them out. I've got space now."

"Sounds interesting," Harry said. "Can we go see them?"

"Of course," Teddy said. "The ones we don't abscond with are yours anyway."

"Anyone?" Harry asked, but everyone was still eating. Teddy and Harry took their coffee cups and left for the garden.

"Harry, Victoire and I…" Teddy began.

Harry waited but Teddy didn't go on. Harry started to prepare himself for disaster.

"The thing is, we decided to get married," Teddy said, 'AT LAST' implicit in his voice.

"Wonderful, simply wonderful," Harry said, extending his hand. "May I be the first…"

"Ah, Mr. Weasley, ah, that is, Victoire's father, Bill," Teddy managed.

"Got there first. Good, that's only right," Harry said.

"Plans?" Harry asked.

"We're quite happy at Gran's," Teddy said. "There is plenty of room, including for children, Merlin willing, and she'd be all alone if Victoire and I went and set up our own place. I built a greenhouse as a prototype, and it's working out well. It's just a little one but Mr. Greengrass drew up plans for something several times larger. He has helped me a lot with standards, testing and quality control. I think there might be opportunity for marketing some of the plants the alchemists and potion makers use. If we grow close to our customers and keep the overhead low, I suspect there is some market share to be captured."

"Once again, congratulations, Teddy," Harry said, "Well done."

"So I have your permission?" Teddy asked. "As head of the clan?"

"Yes, of course, Teddy," Harry said. "It's been a foregone conclusion, for years, or so it seemed to pretty much everyone we know. We've all had a lot of time to get used to the idea. Any particular reason why you decided to go ahead now?"

"Oh, yes," Teddy sighed. "Cousin Astoria. She just showed us we need to make the most of our time, because we don't know how much we're going to have."

Harry nodded.

"She did that. Considering the number of us who were around her when she was here, she may turn out to be one of the more influential witches of the century. She has me thinking, too," Harry said.

"Oh," Teddy said. "Are you considering leaving government? We could use a full-time clan chief."

"Ahh, I don't know about that," Harry said. "We've done pretty well lately, anarchy and all. No, I was thinking about the real estate and the family. James and Zelda will be starting at Hogwarts in September. Your work on the Black estate is kind of at a crossroads. It's quite gorgeous, but your greenhouses are giving me ideas about trying to make it a little more productive. I'm open for ideas, if I didn't make that plain."

They finished their inspection of the herb beds and turned for the house. Teddy's gardening elf helpers got started carefully pulling up seedlings and placing them in boxes full of a wet peat/soil mix.

"Coffee? Tea?" Iolanthe offered when Teddy and Harry got back to the house. Teddy drained the last drops of coffee from his cup and said he'd take one more. Iolanthe called for Melon and soon had Teddy's second cup accomplished.

The Black owls Harry supplied to Hogwarts, combined with the population of the Potter Manor owlery, made for a surplus during the long summer break. Iolanthe, Scorpius and Rose had done their best to keep them flying, but you can owl only so many times a day. Someone was getting a good start on doing their part today, Iolanthe thought, as a barred owl showed up and landed on the back of Daphne's chair. The owl stuck its leg out, kind of absent-mindedly, keeping its attention on the table.

Daphne pulled the little slip out of the string that attached it to the owl's leg.

"Iolanthe?" she said, handing it over.

"We're invited, James," Iolanthe said. "Lunch. Hermione's treat. We meet at the Leaky Cauldron at eleven-thirty. Guess she's trying to beat the rush."

No one had been in the mood to finish off the bacon at breakfast, so Daphne treated the barred owl to an entire strip.

"Is Hugo going?" James asked, considering his options.

"Don't know," said Iolanthe, handing over the little slip of parchment. "See for yourself. Rose doesn't even say she's going."

"A Leaky Cauldron lunch, James," Iolanthe said. "A sandwich, with meat, or a bowl of chili. Maybe a stop at Fortescue's if you're in the mood."

Iolanthe knew she had him because James was always in the mood for a stop at Fortescue's.

"What do we do afterwards?" James asked. "Are you staying in town or coming back here?"

"I don't know, James," Iolanthe said. "Is that an issue?"

James was stumped. It wasn't an issue, so he had to make a decision based on whether he wanted to do it or not, without the help of extraneous considerations.

"I'll go," he said, more to end the conversation than for any other reason.

"You really are wise beyond your years, baby brother," Iolanthe said.

Another owl flew up, eyed the bacon and held out a leg.

Daphne pulled out the little slip and handed over a good-sized chunk, although not a full strip, since the barred owl had gotten the last one of those.

The note began with a plus sign, followed by a terse "See you soon (please)," and the signature of Daphne's personal healer. She hadn't seen her healer for anything except her suspicion that she was pregnant, so she took the plus in its meaning of positive, for her magical blood test result.

"Well," Daphne said, looking at Iolanthe, "Since everyone's here, I've been experiencing some phenomena, and I went to see my healer, and it appears she has just informed me I am pregnant."

"Gosh!"

"Well, now…"

"Hey!"

"MUM!"

And "Ahhhh…that's great!"

All went around the table.

"What? When?" Harry asked.

"She does a fast calculation in her head," Daphne said, "Subject to fine-tuning, sometime in February."

Teddy gave Harry a thumb's-up.

"That's just wonderful," Harry said. "Just what we need."

Everyone but Harry thought that was hilarious.

"Oh, and Teddy, were you going to…?"

"Yes, but there was too much going on, with the owls and everything," Teddy said. "I asked Victoire to marry me and she accepted. Should have done it long ago, I suppose."

Teddy delivered his observation with a little chagrin and an air of mystification as to why they'd not done so.

"That's all past, Teddy," Daphne said. "Think about today, and maybe spare a little thought for tomorrow. Congratulations."

"She's so smart," Iolanthe said, looking at Teddy and projecting complete faith in the truth of her remark.

"So, thanks for the coffee," Teddy said, getting up. "We'd better get our babies back to Gran's. Congratulations, and be sure to let us know the details."

"Teddy, we've got a party to plan," Iolanthe said. "Auntie Astoria would expect us to carry on."

Teddy looked at Daphne.

"I rather think she would," Daphne said. "Regardless of whether we felt like it or not."

Teddy and his master gardener elves carried their flats to the green and disapparated.

"So," James said, "I'm going to get a brother. At last."

"We don't know that, James," Harry said. "That's part of the fun."

"Here's the thing, everyone," Daphne said. "Iolanthe and I greeted the fairies and the fairies said hello to us, then they said '…and the others…' so, the fairies being magically accurate, I suspect we are expecting twins."

"Oh!" bounced between James and Harry.

"Wonderful news, isn't it?" Iolanthe offered.

"Of course. We want a healthy mother and as many healthy babies as she can give us," Harry said.

It sounded odd after he said it, but Daphne nodded in agreement.

"Can we go to lunch?" Iolanthe asked.

"I don't see why not," Daphne replied. "Lord Harry?"

"Hermione is very strict," Harry said. "You'll have to be on your best behavior."

Iolanthe got a quill from her satchel and wrote their acceptance and tied it to the barred owl's leg. She watched it fly off, then got up to go start her ramble. She checked her watch.

"Watch the time, James," she said. "The invitation is for eleven-thirty. I'll be back well before."

When they got to the Leaky Cauldron, Iolanthe was not surprised to see Tracey and Zelda there, along with Hermione, Rose and Hugo.

"So, we're here," Iolanthe said as she pushed her satchel under the table and sat down.

"There may be one more," Rose said. "He was non-committal."

There was a WHOOSH in the great fireplace and Scorpius popped into the room.

Rose looked at Iolanthe, who looked back, as Scorpius looked around, found them, and started toward the group. As luck would have it, there was just space enough between Tracey and Rose to work in a chair from the next table over. Tracey moved aside to make room.

"Just move back, everyone," Hannah Abbott said, drawing her wand. She added the table and rearranged the chairs. Rose suddenly had an empty seat beside her, and Scorpius sat down.

"The roast beef on a long roll is very good, as is the chili," Hannah said. "The meatless specials are macaroni and cheese, the house salad, and the grilled three-cheese sandwich, on Mad Monk bread, of course."

"Roast beef with everything," James said, not at all shy.

"Same for me," Scorpius said.

"And me," Rose added.

Everyone else asked for the house salad. Tracey gave Scorpius a hug.

"Glad you joined us," she said.

"Uh-huh," Zelda agreed, earning a big smile from Rose.

"How could I not?" Scorpius asked. "The Malfoys need to be distracted today, I'll be the first to admit it. I really appreciate your doing this."

Scorpius nodded at Hermione and Tracey.

Hermione and Tracey nudged the conversation this way and that, without giving a clue that they were doing so. What classes was everyone taking? Did the first-years have their kit locked down? What magical areas of study were of interest?

Hermione and Tracey were alumnae of the witches' study group; Rose and Iolanthe were currently involved. Without really meaning to, Tracey and Hermione engaged in a little insider conversation with Rose and Iolanthe. Zelda started showing some distress. Word of Zelda's anxiety had somehow diffused a bit. Iolanthe assured her she and Rose were available whenever Zelda wanted a little extra help with any subject. That went for Hugo and James as well. Iolanthe and Rose, truth be told, were seldom happier than when they were sitting face to face, completely ignoring one another in favor of the open textbooks in their laps.

Hermione thought getting off the topic of witch scholars might be advisable.

"Scorpius, did you come up with anything on copies of your manuscript?" she asked.

"No, I think your department's answer was accurate," Scorpius said. "When I talked it over with Professor Binns, he told me if it came from you, I could take it as read that there aren't any others."

"Well, Hermione, I must say I am impressed," Tracey said. "From Professor Binns, no less!"

"Yes, thank you, Tracey," Hermione said, "I live for validation by Professor Binns."

"Scorpius, have you found any useful Merlin material in the Malfoy library?" Iolanthe asked.

"I found Merlin material," Scorpius answered, "Useful might be a stretch."

"Go on," Iolanthe implored.

"We don't have a card catalog, so my method is to take a book down, go straight to the index, and look for Merlin. Then I look for Arthur, then Guinevere. If there is going to be anything touching on Merlin, one of those will have to be in there. I found a Merlin reference and went to the page, and there was a recipe with a little note stating that Merlin had brewed this mild, non-toxic love potion for someone, and it proved very effective. I turned the book around and found the title on the spine. It was _Your First Year Together: Happy Hints for the Magickal Bryde_."

Tracey and Hermione tried to control the laughter, in consideration of the young people. Hermione observed the historical value probably wasn't in the attribution to Merlin, but you never knew.

The Leaky Cauldron cuisine was good, and several of party, particularly James and Scorpius, thought a stop at Fortescues' would very much be in order. This led to some window-shopping in Diagon Alley, chance meetings with some distant Black cousins, expressions of condolences and thanks for the same. Lissette Lestrange nearly bumped into Iolanthe coming out of Madame Malkin's where she'd just been ordering some larger robes and uniforms for the upcoming school term. Iolanthe introduced Lissette to the distinguished Hogwarts alumnae, Hermione and Tracey. The excursion eventually totaled two additional hours in the heart of magical London.

Tracey had to leave to meet a client, and Zelda negotiated for permission to return to Potter Manor with Iolanthe and James. Scorpius decided to go home by way of Potter Manor as well, leading to Rose and Hugo imposing on Hermione to join them in one more diversion.

Scorpius joined everyone for an informal lawn party featuring lemonade and cookies, and a teary reunion with Melon. Daphne came out to make sure the tables, chairs and refreshments were adequate.

"How are you today, Scorpius?" Daphne asked, trying hard not to use the voice she used for patients.

"Still getting used to the idea, Auntie Daphne," Scorpius answered. "Thank-you for asking."

"We all are," Daphne said, "She was irreplaceable."

Daphne excused herself and went back to the house with Hermione, leaving the young people to their socializing.

"Leaving aside _Magickal Brydes,_ Scorpius, where was your research headed?" Iolanthe asked.

"Not anywhere in particular," Scorpius said.

He went on in greater detail than necessary, laying out the bits of useful information he'd found since end of term, ruing the loss of access to the Hogwarts library and its original sources.

"Not a problem, though," he said. "I know enough about history and historians to understand that's just the way the field works. Besides, when I get to the end of Merlin, I'll have to look for something else."

"Don't forget we're here to help," Iolanthe said.

Scorpius looked between Rose and Iolanthe. Rose nodded.

"We can read," Rose said, "and we can take notes."

Something about the deadpan response was funny, wrapped around a core of genuinely serious.


	29. Chapter 29

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Twenty-Nine

They Begin to Emerge

The final weeks of freedom before start of term passed quickly that year, as various adults in Scorpius' constellation exerted themselves to come up with activities that wouldn't be considered frivolous or inappropriate for a family in mourning, but would still be a distraction for Scorpius, and often Draco as well, as they began their painful adjustment to the post-Astoria world.

Rose and Iolanthe, with the supreme confidence of thirteen-year-old collaborators, thought that they had conceived the original idea of keeping an eye on Scorpius while providing him with constructive diversions, and at times resented their parents' intrusive interest in their project. That the older generation had no idea the two had staked out a claim on Malfoy therapy for the remainder of the summer did not apply. Their planning capacity was not taxed as much as they anticipated, since Daphne and Tracey, and to a lesser extent Hermione, had all come up with ideas for interesting outings.

Draco had visited Albania with Astoria and Scorpius several times over the years, always setting up a base in Durres and taking day trips from there. Mr. Kadare' still operated his hotel for magicals near the corniche, and the staff still extended itself to ensure everyone had a visit every bit as magical as the visitors themselves. Draco took Scorpius to Durres and Butrint that summer. The whole trip had an air of pilgrimage about it. Scorpius thought Draco was sinking into melancholia at one or two points, but he always bounced back. When they returned to Britain, Scorpius invited his Aunt Daphne for a private stroll and raised the issue of whether he needed to become worried about his father's reaction to Astoria's death.

Daphne did her best, but she was coping with her own grief at the same time.

"One of the things we can't forget about grief, Scorpius, is this—just like pain, grief is felt differently by different people," Daphne began. "Some people can give the appearance everything is fine, while inside, they're breaking down. Other people may look emotionally broken, to the observer, but that is just their way of getting past the worst, then they come back, cope well, and can even help others with their inner pain.

"Contact with others seems to be very important for most people. Make sure you talk to your father every day, even if you have to start the conversations. Just asking him how he is doing might be all he needs to focus on you and your lives going forward."

"How are you doing, Aunt Daphne?" Scorpius asked as they walked around the Potter Manor gardens.

"Very astute, Scorpius," Daphne said. "I'm having my good days and bad days. Your father and I both knew years ago that this day would come, probably while we were left to pick up the pieces of our lives, so we have had time to get used to the idea. I did not anticipate the reality would be so cruel. I have a theory. There's no way to test it, but here it is. Your mother's time was short, for a witch, and perhaps she made the most of every day she had, as if I get sixty percent out of a day, and she got one-twenty. She was a huge factor in all our lives, wasn't she? She had a way of spreading herself around. Twenty minutes with Astoria was two hours with anyone else. Now that she's gone, there is a huge hole to fill. We will fill it, eventually, but not today, or this month, or before the end of the year."

They continued on in silence.

"I appreciate what everyone has been doing," Scorpius said, very softly.

Their deliberate pace through the garden paths continued.

"When did you catch on?" Daphne asked, the implicit humor in her question actually surprising her, and giving her a very welcome emotional lift.

"That lunch at the Leaky Cauldron, right after the funeral," Scorpius said. "Rose and Iolanthe are something else. I don't mind. We're going back to Hogwarts soon and we'll all be buried in books again. That's one thing about being connected to them, they respect a person's right to study."

"If you're worried about Draco," Daphne said, "Remember those Black owls. Send him a note every day. Two or three sentences. Quidditch scores, before he reads it in the Daily Prophet. If you want to talk about anything, just owl me and we'll work something out. I'd like to hear how your Brother Glott project is progressing from time to time. Can you send me regular updates?"

"Of course," Scorpius said. As a budding scholar, he was flattered his distinguished aunt thought his self-assigned work on Merlin was of interest.

The two eventually completed a full circumnavigation of the gardens. When they got back to the patio, Scorpius broke the silence.

"Everyone says they feel better after talking to you, Aunt Daphne," Scorpius said. "I can see why."

"That's a very kind thing to say," Daphne said, "Ready to be getting back to Hogwarts?"

"I think so," Scorpius said. "Keep an eye on him?"

"Yes," Daphne said. "You can count on it."

The school calendar called for the Hogwarts Express to make its journey on the first day of September. Rose and Iolanthe had been planning the logistics for taking Zelda, James and Hugo to Hogwarts and getting them sorted since spring term. Astoria's death and funeral had diverted their attention for some weeks, but the plan was so advanced the end result was nearly flawless.

Millicent Bulstrode had been among the faculty to draw Hogwarts Express chaperone duty, and she stood on Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters eyeing both parents and students with an air of detached interest that was taken, in combination with her way of looking at the scrum, her considerable physical presence, and her position as Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, as threatening or reassuring, depending on one's perspective.

Iolanthe managed her own luggage trolley, while James conceded that he could use a hand with his. Harry obliged him, putting only one hand on the trolley's handle, as if he were just going for a stroll with James, not propelling two hundred pounds of first-year necessities through the barricade onto the platform. Iolanthe had packed her trunk at #12 Grimmauld Place, picked it up, turned it around, and tried its balance from this or that angle until she was confident she could get the trunk all the way onto the car without any assistance.

Iolanthe, wearing her personal summer uniform of blue jeans, short-sleeved khaki shirt with patch pockets, sandals and a brown duck bush hat, pushed her trolley to a point near the car she wanted and stopped.

"Mother?" she said.

"Need a hand?" Daphne asked, walking over expecting to take one end of the trunk.

"Just hold the trolley, please," Iolanthe said, grabbing the trunk's leather handle with one hand, swinging it up into position, shifting her free hand and pushing and releasing at once, sliding the trunk onto the top step of the entrance to the car. Her timing was perfect, as she saw two Black cousins she recognized enter the car as the trunk slid to a stop.

"Do me a favor?" Iolanthe asked. "Stow that for me so I can say good-bye?"

"Of course," said one of the Blacks. "Hullo, Lady Daphne, hullo, Lord Harry."

"Hullo, dears, have a good term and we'll see you in Cornwall in December!" Daphne called back, while Harry waved and smiled.

"Very impressive, Ms. Potter," said Millicent, who'd been watching from a spot near the barrier.

"Professor," both Harry and Daphne nodded in greeting, even though they'd all had breakfast together in the little townhouse garden at #12 just hours before.

Iolanthe nodded her head in Millicent's direction, in addition to rendering a respectful, "Professor Bulstrode."

No one was close by so Millicent dropped the formalities and reverted to Auntie Millicent.

"Try not to curtsy out here, dear," she said. "You can save that for Madame Walburga. She thrives on that old-time protocol. You put a move on that trunk. I saw you. Have you been working out a lot?"

"Some," Iolanthe said as she shifted her hat to the back of her head. "After Auntie Astoria…The pushups really helped. When we weren't involved in something else, I went on lots of hikes, up and down lanes, over walls and fences. I was looking for animals, magical creatures if they were about, but anything would do."

A bowtruckle poked its head out of one of Iolanthe's patch pockets and looked around.

"So I see," Millicent said. "Have you ever thought about volunteering to be a tutor? Some of your fellows don't move between one Defense lesson and the next. You could be a big help just by showing them all their limbs articulate where they're attached to their bodies."

"Can we talk in two or three weeks? If I just have time to get a good start on my own classes and make sure our little charges are settled-in," Iolanthe said.

"Excellent!" Millicent said. "Tackle the highest priorities and I'll be waiting to hear from you."

Iolanthe grabbed her canvas satchel and slung it over a shoulder, picked up a small soft case, and turned to Daphne.

"Mum," she said, losing the Mother for the first time Daphne could remember. Iolanthe wrapped her arms around Daphne and squeezed. Without warning, all of the emotion of the past three months came flooding back. Scorpius' birthday party and the Black Picnic just days before Astoria's death, reading _The Odyssey_ with Astoria for the last time, the walk with Daphne, the healing of Gorr, learning about the twins, traveling through the blue goo to wherever in the world Don Juan and Astoria sat on top of a mesa trading philosophy, Astoria's gift of the broken curse, her pyre and the spectacular lighting by Gorr and little Astoria Iolanthe.

Iolanthe had been telling herself she had done a good job of being an adult and coping with the loss of her beloved Auntie Astoria, but there on the platform she discovered how shallow her recovery had been. She didn't break down, but she shuddered a few times in Daphne's arms, to the extent Daphne considered walking her over to the barrier, out of the way, for a little private chat. Just to reassure herself Iolanthe was strong enough, Daphne told herself. She needn't have worried. Iolanthe straightened up and stepped back.

"Now, James Greengrass," she said, "It's time we saw to that trunk. Grab that end."

Iolanthe could have maneuvered the trunk onto the train just as she had done her own, but she knew James would be embarrassed to be seen riding his big sister's coattails before he ever got to Hogwarts. She and Daphne had discussed James to a degree that would have mortified him, had he known. Maturation, machismo, Iolanthe's already-established reputation as a leader-scholar, and her highly-visible relationship with Rose and Scorpius could all seem intimidating to eleven-year-old James. If he tried too hard to establish his own Hogwarts space and image, he might be in danger of adopting self-defeating methods.

Iolanthe let James take the lead on the trunk. He first started to climb the steps dragging the trunk up with him. He quickly assessed that method would be unsuccessful.

"Want to try this?" Iolanthe asked. She took the leather handle on the end of the trunk, and climbed on slowly, letting James push from the bottom end while standing on the platform. Once she got to the top step she pulled the trunk up the last foot and let it down. Looking up and down the corridor she saw a porter and nodded to him.

"My brother's," she said. "He's a first year."

"Of course, Miss Potter," said the porter, obviously quite pleased to have the opportunity to become slightly familiar with a member of the famous Potter clan. "I'll secure this and it will go on to the castle as usual. Does your brother need anything from the trunk? Robe, Hogwarts uniform?"

"Just a moment," Iolanthe said, hopping back down to the platform where James was getting in some more hugging and handshaking with Harry.

"James, did you pack your change of clothes in the little bag as we discussed?" Iolanthe called out.

James held up an overnight bag.

"All in here, robe, uniform, wand," he said.

"He's good," Iolanthe said as she turned back toward the train.

"About time to board," said Millicent. "I'll say good-bye here. I have to walk down and round up stragglers. I'll board down there. James, see you on the train."

Millicent turned and left. Daphne dispensed another hug and some back pats. Iolanthe returned as James was getting his natural color back.

"James, your trunk will be taken from the train to the castle for you. You will see it again in your dorm, in your new house," Iolanthe said. "Mother, Father."

Iolanthe dispensed the hugs, even though she was shorter and more compact than either of her parents.

"Ready?" she asked, reaching for James' hand. James didn't let her come close.

"Ready," James affirmed.

They waved from the top step as the steam whistle sounded, then the two Potters disappeared down the corridor.

"Aren't they something?" Harry asked. "Both of them, of course, but that Iolanthe…"

"That is all you, Harry Potter," said Daphne.

"Really?" Harry said. "I'd have said the opposite. She's such a scholar. I never could do what she does. I honestly have no comprehension of what one does to get those kinds of marks."

"You're looking at one facet," Daphne said. "There's more to her than that. That lightning you harness runs right through her. That might be why you're unaware. It just seems normal to you."

"Oh," Harry said. "I stand corrected. How's James, from your perspective?"

"He's fine, as far as I can tell," Daphne said. "Have you noticed he doesn't have a lot of special interests, books, magical creatures, that sort of thing? Yet he discovered unaided flight on his own, when he was ten. Then that job he did building Astoria's pyre. What did you make of that? You all talked about how he outworked the elves and the grown men both, but what did that mean? Where did he get the strength?"

"I really don't know," Harry said. "Something tells me we are about to find out."

Rose found Iolanthe on the Hogwarts Express. She was actually looking for Scorpius, but Iolanthe would always do. Iolanthe still had James in hand, and Rose had acquired Zelda along the way.

"Hugo's down that way, I think there is room in the cabin, if you two would be interested," Rose said.

"Sure," Zelda and James said, more or less in unison.

Rose led the way to Hugo's cabin, a collecting point for first-years. Iolanthe opened the cabin door and looked around. The cacophony collapsed as Rose joined her in assessing the cabin.

"Got room for two more?" Iolanthe asked, directing her question toward Hugo but getting an affirmative chorus in return. Iolanthe turned to James, tilting her head in a silent 'Well?'

"Sure," said James, sitting down as a space was cleared.

"Now, Zelda," Iolanthe said.

"Can I stay with you?" Zelda asked, her determination to stick with James having waned somewhere between the corridor and the reality of the compartment filled with first-years and their nonsense.

"Of course," Iolanthe said, Rose nodding in agreement.

With a wave to James, Rose and Iolanthe took Zelda in hand and went searching for Scorpius, and a place to settle down for the journey to Scotland.

"Where's your trunk?" Iolanthe asked.

"The porter took it," Zelda said.

"You kept your change of clothes separate?" asked Rose.

"Right here," Zelda said, holding up a small drawstring bag.

"How did you get it to fit in there?" Iolanthe asked.

"Mum shrank everything, but it is supposed to come back when I get it out," Zelda said.

"Brilliant," Rose said, looking at Iolanthe.

"Tracey," was all Iolanthe had in response.

The train puffed away northward, whiffs of burning coal and escaped steam migrating down the corridor. There wasn't any coal burning to boil water and propel the engine up the track. It was a magical steam engine, powered by magic over two centuries old, but the makers had thought to include the proper sounds and smells. Generations of young magicals had shared the experience, many of them realizing with a start that the fabric of their school years included that little detail that long-dead wizards and witches had so kindly included, a small personal legacy bequeathed to young people the originators would never meet.

Scorpius was in a cabin with two third-years and a fourth year. They'd piled a trunk atop another and were involved in a game of cards.

"Exploding Snap?" Rose asked, opening the door.

"Rummy," said one of the players. "Do you ladies want to sit with us and wait for an open seat?"

"Will anyone actually win and open up seats, or will you keep going bust all the way to Hogsmeade while you ask us to run down the trolley witch for you?" Iolanthe asked.

"She's onto us," Scorpius said.

"As it turns out, Melon did send something along," Iolanthe said. "My guess would be she meant for me to run into you, and invite you to share this."

Iolanthe lifted up her little bag and pantomimed looking for a place where she could lay it flat and open it up. There was actually room on either of the bench seats, but she clearly wanted a spot on the top trunk, so the hand was declared dead and the cards cleared away. Iolanthe opened her bag and removed a small iron Dutch oven, complete with lid. She touched the lid with her wand and it expanded to full size. A beefy, yeasty scent began to fill the cabin, an irresistible aroma for the young adult male, and four of them temporarily lost control of their salivary glands.

"Now, let's just see," Iolanthe said. She reached into her case once again and pulled out two plates and two tablespoons. Laying the spoons on the plates, she used her wand again casting a multiplying charm, and turned the pile into seven plates and seven sets of silverware.

"Anyone pick up a baguette on the way to the platform?" Rose asked.

No one had.

"Pity," Iolanthe noted. "Well, Melon thought to include this roll, so let's see."

The roll became seven and the card players were transfixed.

"Ready to take a break and have something to eat?" Rose asked.

Melon's contribution was a beef pot pie of sufficient size to provide lunch for seven Hogwarts students, but she'd left something to drink to the imagination of her guests.

"Do you think the trolley witch has some lemonade today?" Iolanthe wondered, the idle thought just popping into her mind. No one remarked on the two young wizards who jumped up and left the cabin, one turning left and one right. It didn't take long to locate the trolley witch and get her to come to the cabin. She did not have any lemonade, as it turned out, but she did have plenty of iced tea.

Time passed quickly, following lunch, with some talk of the upcoming quidditch season, classes either eagerly anticipated or dreaded, and relating the received knowledge on this or that professor to Zelda.

Rose looked at her watch and addressed the cabin:

"Time to change. How are we going to do this?"

Variations on 'We'll leave, then you can leave,' took several minutes. The last tie was properly knotted a few miles from Hogsmeade station.

Rose and Iolanthe had used their time out of the cabin to track down Hugo and James. After checking their appearance, they went over the arrival arrangements one more time.

"You'll look for Hagrid," Rose told Hugo. "He's not hard to identify in this crowd. You'll take the boats with the other first years, go inside, to the sorting ceremony. Then we'll all sit down for the feast."

"Who has the best food?" Hugo asked.

"It's all good," Rose sighed. "How many times have we been over this? It's all the same food."

"I know," Hugo said, "I just like the sound of it."

"You're very calm," Iolanthe observed, as she gave James the last look-over.

"Why shouldn't I be?" James asked.

"Well, the next hour will have a lot to do with how you'll spend your time for the next seven years, and with whom you'll do it," Iolanthe said.

"It's going to be fine, wherever I go," James said.

Iolanthe was startled by James' equanimity. He really didn't care. He'd be fine wherever he went! What did she think of that? She resolved to ponder the mystery of James when she had the time to do it properly. There could be some insights worth discovering.

Iolanthe thought back to her sorting. She and Harry had both confessed they thought it certain she'd be sorted into Slytherin. She didn't mind the prospect of being a Snake. She loved real snakes, why wouldn't she love to be a Snake? What worried her was that she and her father would become distant, his history with Slytherins being all hot and cold. Either they were conspiring to deliver him up to the Dark Lord, or they were falling in love with him and gladly having his children. It was a puzzle.

No one needed to worry. The transfer from the train to the castle went smoothly, and before long the first years started climbing onto the stool to be sorted.

The first few weren't of much interest to Iolanthe, Scorpius or Rose. There might have been one or two Black cousins in the batch, so they'd have to check up on that. Then the first of their special charges was called.

"Zelda Davis"

Zelda looked around, found Iolanthe and gave her a little smile, to which Iolanthe returned a thumbs-up.

"Slytherin," said Scorpius, very softly, as he looked over Iolanthe's shoulder.

"Merlin in Druid Heaven, I guess so," Iolanthe said, waiting for the foregone conclusion to be fulfilled.

Of course, no one but the first year and the sorting hat are privy to those conversations.

"Slytherin, Slytherin, Slytherin," Zelda thought as the hat came down over her brow.

"Slytherin? Well, you've got the genes, certainly. Rather distinguished Slytherins, both sides, too," said the hat. "But you like to fly? And play quidditch? What position do you dream about?"

"Seeker," thought Zelda. "I want a hot broom."

"Ah-ha," said the hat. "You should know Slytherin has a fine fourth-year seeker and there is a third-year almost as good right behind her. Gryffindor, on the other hand, needs a seeker. There is a chance, just a chance, if you went to Gryffindor, you could play this year. Do you think you can keep your grades up? You won't play if you're struggling in class."

"Merlin, YES!" thought Zelda. "I will do anything to play."

"Very well, then," said the hat. "Gryffindor!"

"What?" Scorpius said, looking first at Iolanthe, then around the Slytherin table.

"She was afraid she wouldn't get Slytherin," Iolanthe said, keeping her voice down. "I wonder what happened?"

Zelda ran, literally, to the Gryffindors and was swept up by Rose. She knew a fair number of her new housemates, from Black Picnics, Black Christmas, or from her travels with Tracey. Zelda was a catch, everyone knew that, but with her pedigree, the entire school just naturally assumed she'd be Slytherin's. The Gryffindors nearly hugged and back-patted her into the infirmary, before scooting down on their bench to give her the space next to Rose.

The sorting continued. Hugo came at the end of the G's, his name appearing on the class list as Hugo Granger-Weasley. Hugo wasn't expecting much. He had been immersed in Gryffindor lore since birth. His parents were both Gryffindors. No one kept a list of Distinguished Gryffindors, but if they did, one, and possibly both of his parents would be on it. As would his Aunt Ginny. Uncles Charley and Percy would be candidates, certainly. Truth was, Hugo was thoroughly tired of everyone assuming Hugo Granger-Weasley would take his place in the long line of Weasley Gryffindors.

"Anywhere but Gryffindor," Hugo thought as the hat settled down.

"Yawn," said the hat. "No names, but there is some of what you've got going around tonight."

"Not surprised," Hugo thought. "I'm a legacy, like it or not. Why shouldn't there be others?"

"Of course," said the hat, "Why wouldn't you want to be the author of an original story, am I right? You sound like a Slytherin."

"I could do Slytherin," Hugo said. "The thing is, I don't have lofty goals. I want to be an auror. I have to be in good physical condition and skilled enough to pass the entrance exam and the training course. Which is tough."

"Which will you need more help with?" asked the hat.

"The highest marks in the courses I need to be eligible to take the exam," Hugo replied.

"Ravenclaw gets treated unfairly," said the hat. "They like their studies. 'Wit without measure…' and all of that. But they really like housemates who want to learn. It keeps the Ravenclaw atmosphere conducive to scholarship. Some Ravenclaws have trouble keeping marks in perspective. The mark isn't important, the learning is. You've got the motivation. Do you want to learn?"

"I do," said Hugo.

"Don't ever slack off, or you'll be miserable," said the hat. "Last chance."

"Ravenclaw," thought Hugo.

"Ravenclaw!" said the hat, as Hugo slid off the stool.

The walk from the stool to the Ravenclaw table reminded Hugo of the sea breeze he felt when his parents took him and Rose on an outing to Dover to see the cliffs. The smell of sea water, the cold, damp wind in his face, the gusts that lifted his hair and chilled his scalp. He'd loved it, and it all came back as he became the first Weasley in generations not to walk from the stool to the Gryffindors, but to the liberating arms of the Ravenclaws.

James Potter was the last of the P's that night, the third of Rose, Scorpius and Iolanthe's charges to sit on the stool. Two of 'The Littles' had gone before, and both defied convention. Would they go three for three?

"Here's our Slytherin," Scorpius nearly breathed into Iolanthe's ear.

"Nah, he's a Gryff, darn it," Iolanthe said, hiding most of the despair.

"You want Hufflepuff, don't you?" the hat asked as James felt it touch his head.

"How did you know?" James asked. "I just got here."

"Hard work, camaraderie, don't give a hoot for others' measures of success. You already know what you're going to do with your life, you set your own standards, very, very high ones, too, and Devil take the hindmost. It's all over your face, your bearing…" the hat mused.

"I've heard all about you," James said, clearly delighted to find out the stories were true. "Ready? I am if you are."

"Hufflepuff!" announced the hat.

There was a hush, followed by a murmur, low, lips to ears, mouths shielded by cupped hands.

Hufflepuff? Harry Potter's son, the Harry Potter who had been cursed when just a year old and lived to tell the tale? The one who dueled the Dark Lord Voldemort multiple times and finally did what the greatest, most powerful wizards of the age had not been able to do? The Harry Potter who was a legendary auror, youngest Head Auror in history? The Harry Potter rumored to have beaten Gellert Grindelwald with his fists, although that was still a classified operation that was never officially acknowledged by the ministry? THAT Harry Potter's son, going to Hufflepuff? That's not even taking into account the rich Slytherin heritage on the other side of the family. Huh—how about that?

James wore a huge smile as he walked over to join the Hufflepuffs. They, of course, lost all sense of propriety in their welcomes. The Black cousin 'Puffs got to him first and showered him with 'Cousin James!' greetings, just so the others would be in on such essential information. James looked for Iolanthe at the Slytherin table, caught her eye and raised two clinched fists above his head in a 'V' which might have meant Victory, although Iolanthe thought it could be Latin, for Veritas.

The beginning of term feast was very well-scripted, or perhaps a better term would be encrusted, as in encrusted by centuries of history and tradition. The Headmistress made welcoming remarks and passed on some announcements of an excruciatingly mundane sort. Zelda perked up when she mentioned quidditch, and could barely keep her peace until the ceremonial parts concluded and they were invited to eat, and, of course, converse.

"Who's the quidditch captain?" Zelda asked Rose.

"Down there," Rose indicated a tall, blonde boy hunched over a plate of roast beef and mashed potatoes.

"Bobby Something-or-other, filling his gut with slow-acting poison," Rose added.

"I'm trying out. Slytherin's got seekers, it's overflowing with seekers, but Gryffindor needs a seeker," Zelda said.

An older girl sitting across the table looked at Zelda over her water tumbler.

"I don't know who told you that, Miss Davis, but they're mistaken," she said, raising the tumbler and taking a drink. "I was the second seeker last year. Thank Merlin our starter never missed a game, but I was there throughout, went to all the practices, of course. He graduated and I would be the presumptive replacement. Have you ever played quidditch?"

"Zelda's very talented, Dorcas," Rose said using her most studied, even tone. "I'm sure she is not aware of the others who might be ahead of her. Zelda, this is Dorcas Flyte, a fifth-year, and Gryffindor's second seeker last season."

Dorcas eyed Zelda for a moment before saying,

"Very pleased to meet you, Zelda."

Before long, the feast was drawing to an end. The prefects stood and identified themselves for the first years and led them off to their houses. Iolanthe fell in with the Slytherins. Ever since the portrait of the young, dewy Walburga had taken up residence on the wall across from the Slytherin girls' dormitory, a tradition had sprung up to welcome the new Slytherin witches to their Hogwarts home.

Once the prefects got everyone to Slytherin's common room in the dungeons, Millicent Bulstrode made some brief welcoming remarks, including forewarning that, if they didn't already know, a giant squid lived in the lake and would swim by the common room window now and then. The new Slytherins weren't to be alarmed, and they certainly weren't to scream or panic and set everyone's teeth on edge, just for a giant squid sighting.

Then Millicent would leave the boys to the prefects and take all the Slytherin witches present to the dormitory. One of the prefects would make sure Madame Walburga was awake, then Millicent would give a short talk about Slytherin, Slytherin witches, and Walburga's place in Slytherin history. Then she would bring the first-year witches up one-by-one and the young witches would curtsy and introduce themselves to Walburga, who would welcome them to Slytherin House. Walburga's memory was still functioning at a very high level, for a portrait, and she was brilliant at connecting the new girls with witches who had gone before.

"Oh, you must be so-and-so's granddaughter!" she'd say, a note of delight in her voice when she recognized a surname. "A fine witch, make sure you tell her I said hello whenever you see her."

Introductions over, Iolanthe walked up to the portrait.

"Miss Iolanthe," Walburga nearly wailed as Iolanthe popped up out of her curtsy. "I didn't see Zelda. What happened?"

"I suspect quidditch," Iolanthe said, "Although, I'm going to have to hold off speaking definitively until we've spoken. She was all set to go for Slytherin, but we've got solid players at every position. Gryffindor has a barely adequate seeker and no keeper. My information is they will have to press-gang one if no one tries out. Dry spell over there, just one of those things. My guess, and it is a guess, is the hat asked her what she wanted to do and she said 'Play quidditch' and the hat gave it up."

Madame Walburga was dumbstruck, a near-unique event.

"Slytherin lost Zelda Davis to quidditch?" she began, the spluttering evident underneath the words. "That hat diverted Zelda Davis from Slytherin House to Gryffindor with quidditch?"

Iolanthe wondered where her mother was at that moment, because as soon as she left, she had no doubt Walburga would be off to the portrait in Daphne's study at #12 Grimmauld Place to report.

"Long day, Madame," Iolanthe said. "If I have your permission?"

"Of course, dear," Walburga said. "We can catch up later."

Iolanthe curtsied again for good measure and headed for the dorm.

The next day was one of the busiest of the year for the Black owls. More senior Black cousins took the first-years to the owlery and showed them the drill. The new students wrote notes to their parents with news of their sorting and first few hours' experience at Hogwarts. James Greengrass wrote a second note, this one to Fabio, with a short version of his interaction with the sorting hat.

Harry and Daphne didn't know quite what to think about the selections as reported by James and Iolanthe. They were accurate as to the facts, but widely divergent in perspective. Iolanthe was disappointed, quite naturally, that she had lost Zelda's first-yearship to Rose, but that was it. She knew she'd be seeing lots of Zelda, because of her own attachment to Rose, so the only difference was they wouldn't be using the same common room.

Iolanthe didn't know what to make of James, and said so. James wrote his parents with obvious glee. He could not have been happier. The egalitarian Hufflepuffs were delighted to have him. They went out of their way for the first-years, even throwing them a low-key 'Welcome to Hufflepuff' party in the common room. Daphne formulated a theory that she explained to Harry as they had breakfast on the patio and waited for Mercury to bring Harry's morning file.

"James is talent and magical power," Daphne said. "Slytherin is 'What are your goals, what do you want, how are you going to get there?' and James doesn't need that. In Gryffindor he'd be in for seven years of reminders of Harry Potter's magnificent stands against Voldemort, hijinks and adventures with Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. And bravery. Oh, that Gryffindor bravery. He doesn't need that, either. He already breathes that air, he took it in with his mother's milk.

"He's going to write his own story, Harry. It looks to me like James Greengrass Potter, age eleven, has just told the world he will be the one making the decisions, thank you very much. That is all Harry Potter, too, if I may be so bold."

"Okay," Harry said. "I must say it has been fun to watch, so far. Am I allowed to offer guidance, from time to time?"

Hugo, James and Zelda settled into their houses and the routine of classes with little trouble. They had excellent preparation for the course work. Keeping to the schedule was a shock at first, because the parental tutoring they'd experienced for their primary studies was much more flexible than the well-organized Hogwarts system. Within a week, though, all had adjusted and were becoming practiced at being where they needed to be when they needed to be there.

Zelda stayed clear of Dorcas Flyte. The older girl was convinced the position of seeker was hers by right. Zelda knew making an enemy was not going to help her chances of getting on the team as a first-year. After a few conversations with other Gryffindors she learned they also needed a keeper. That could be a way onto the team as well. She could build up her hours on a broom, as Ginny had advised her to do, hanging around the goals. She certainly wouldn't need to ride a Firebolt to be a keeper. Then, when there was an opening at seeker, she'd be ready.

Zelda's second goal after making the quidditch team was to spend hours every day with her textbooks. She'd grown up surrounded by scholar-witches who had done remarkable magic before they even attained their majorities, and hadn't stopped since. Her mother's cousin Daphne was a healer with two muggle doctorates. Daphne wore it lightly, just something she did to get her qualifications to help others, but Zelda had looked at the requirements for those degrees and had an inkling of what they represented in terms of personal commitment.

Luckily, Zelda had Rose. Rose loved to learn new things. Rose and Iolanthe, also a serious scholar, had promised their young charges they would be available whenever Zelda, James or Hugo needed them. Rose took Zelda in hand and helped her set up a study schedule so Rose would not have to stop and think about what to do next.

"You'll have to work out what is the best way for you," Rose said. "I'll show you my system, you can give it a try, and make adjustments as necessary."

Ron and Harry had been showing the children the aurors' fitness routines since they were toddlers. Some had taken them up and exercised regularly, others developed their own pastimes. Hugo had one career goal: become an auror. He had to be seventeen to apply. That gave him six years to prepare himself for the mental and physical screening that was the first step to an auror's career. He knew the mental component would be the challenge. He was counting on Ravenclaw to foster the scholar in him.

The hat was right about James. He knew exactly what he wanted to do with his life, and that was to continue Fabio's synthesis of business, gardening and magical landscape architecture. Beyond a natural instinct for what to plant where, James felt the plants' inner reactions to their environments, including which plants liked one another and which ones didn't. That all happened in the buffer zone between the magical and rational domains, inaccessible to most people, whether muggle or wizard. James had learned about it on his own, just as he'd learned unassisted flight. He'd been on the old, slow broom one day, and felt the magic flowing through himself, and the broom, and made the connection between flight and the magical force.

"Oh," he thought to himself, "What if I got off the broom, and kept the magical…?"

That is how he approached magical horticulture. He'd been spending time with the Potter Manor garden elves all summer, and was starting to put his mark on the gardens. Greengrass Lake was the epitome of magical art, in James' view, a confection that required mastery of horticulture, landscape design, charms and spells, in addition to an imagination that could conceive such wonders. He had already talked to Teddy Lupin about working together when next summer arrived. Hufflepuff would certainly not get in his way if he wanted to spend his free time mapping the flow of magic in greenhouses.

School settled into a pattern for each of the new students. Hugo craved movement as soon as he got up in the morning, which he satisfied by going for a run before breakfast. He discovered Iolanthe also needed to work off some excess energy early so she could concentrate for the rest of the day. They began meeting outside the castle, jogging to the quidditch pitch, and pairing up in an evolving fitness routine. Like-minded students, and a few faculty, gravitated to their focused workouts and joined in.

Rose had an acolyte in Zelda, who adopted Rose' own schedule and followed it with near-religious zeal. She was so well-prepared for classes she began getting compliments from faculty right from the beginning. Some of her anxiety began to drop away. She remembered Daphne telling her if she loved studying enough, she wouldn't need a study group. That became a mantra for Zelda, rolling around in her mind as she opened a textbook, dropping into background when she began to read. She was still using it years later as an aid to focus, and a filter to keep internal chatter from intruding on her consciousness.

Black Christmas approached and Harry scheduled the observance for a Saturday so all the students could attend. It didn't take a lot of correspondence for Harry Potter and Millicent Bulstrode to convince the Headmistress to let the Black cousins take the first weekend in December away from Hogwarts. Rose, Iolanthe, Zelda, Hugo and James all left on Friday, under Millicent's supervision, and spent the night in Cornwall with their families.

The celebration was respectfully subdued, in recognition of Astoria's absence. When Harry raised the question, Narcissa and Scorpius both more or less demanded Black Christmas be held, mourning or no mourning. It's what Astoria would have wanted, for one thing, so one could say her survivors were honoring her wishes. For another, it gave everyone the chance to get together and share memories, thus keeping Astoria's memory alive.

Harry stepped back and let the Hogwarts students lead the tour of the house and toast the portraits. Phineas Nigellus and Walburga had briefed their fellow Blacks on the excellence of the entire Hogwarts Black delegation. The hugely pregnant Daphne accompanied the group and got the heartfelt thanks of the portraits for her personal commitment to the restoration of the Black clan in Britain.

Harry and Daphne were standing in front of the fireplace after seeing off the last of the guests when Tracey walked up next to Harry and wrapped her arm through his. Harry looked at Daphne, who gave him a co-conspirator smile.

"Thank-you for letting us take up residence here, Harry," said Tracey. "It's a perfect situation for Zelda and me. Not that I want to distance myself from Daphne and you, you understand, it's just…"

"I know," Harry said. "I have some experience with people being cruel. I can't see it and not do something about it. We all love you and Zelda too much, which I'm not ashamed to say in front of Daphne. Having you with us made our lives better."

Tracey looked at Daphne, who granted her permission with an, "Oh, go ahead, if I'm standing right here it won't get very far."

Tracey leaned in and kissed Harry on the cheek.

"Merry Christmas, milord," she said.

"Merry Christmas, Tracey," Harry replied.

Harry used _muffliato_ on their room when he and Daphne got there.

"Do we have to find someone for her?" he asked.

"It's a puzzle," Daphne said after expending a valiant effort stifling a laugh at Harry's question. "I don't think so. She's a skilled witch with a pedigree and a successful business. If she wanted a relationship I think she'd go out and get one. Everything I see tells me she has found a space here with us that she really likes. There is Blaise on the one side, father of her child, dashing, something of a hero, clubman. They'll get dressed up for a charity function, often one she personally produced, and bedazzle all assembled. Hard to tell who is wearing whom on their arm. Blaise and Tracey are both happy with Zelda's perspective. Zelda likes her time with both. She doesn't fret about Tracey and Blaise living separately.

"Then there is family life with the Potters. Zelda has us at home any time Tracey can't include her in what she's doing. There's no trying to track down Blaise or ask around for friends or family to take Zelda. She remembers what you did for them when the Davis's were being awful. Tracey doesn't like the uncouth comments, but I hypothesize the air of mystery about her status here also adds to the allure of a Tracey Davis-planned event. I know she is scrupulously observing the terms of our pact."

"Do you now?" Harry asked.

"Uh-huh," Daphne said, moving in a little closer. "Life would have gotten very complicated if you had to slink off here and there at odd times or both of you just by coincidence had business in Zurich or Nice over the same weekend. Even your job wouldn't explain those kinds of things. Besides, Tracey's approach to me would be different. She'd have to start marking territory, taking little bites here and there. That's how witches work. It's instinct. We can't do anything about it."

"So brilliant," Harry said. "All of me is less than half of us. How are you feeling after all the exertion?"

"On the verge of sleeping for a week," Daphne murmured, burrowing down into the warmth a little bit.

"Thank you for your personal commitment to the restoration of the Potters," Harry said, "If I may paraphrase."

"Oh, Harry, the pleasure has been all mine, right from the beginning," Daphne said. "Honestly. I have to stop or I'll get school-girlish and weepy. When we're very old and sitting in our rockers maybe I'll be able to talk about it."

For punctuation she found Harry's hand and placed it on her bump. The two prospective Potters rolled around. One found Harry's palm and telegraphed some thought with a kick.

Harry took it all as Daphne's way of saying she liked the way their life together had turned out. He shifted his arm so he could reach around her shoulder and pull her close. He wondered when they'd ever get old and sit in those rockers. It would be fine, he supposed, as long as the children placed the rockers close together.

The Hogwarts Blacks had a variety of arrangements for returning to school following Black Christmas. Millicent went ahead to the Three Broomsticks after Sunday lunch and waited while the bulk of the Black Christmas attendees came by floo. Madame Rosmerta's place hopped, for a Sunday in winter, as the cousins came in ones and twos to form up for the walk back to the castle.

Before the Blacks started floo'ing in, Millicent arranged to run a tab at the bar.

"Anything they want, as long as it doesn't have any alcohol in it," Millicent said.

"Something for you? Belly-warmer? Chill-chaser?" Rosmerta asked.

"Not right this moment," Millicent said.

"Didn't really think so," said Rosmerta. "What has been going on with you?"

"My niece's birthday is on the first," Millicent said. "Harry gets all the Black relatives together around the date for a Christmas party at the old estate in Cornwall. It was a bit muted this year, of course, because of Astoria. Not that it ever gets really wild.

"Good bunch of students at school right now," she continued. "The usual hijinks we're never going to eliminate, obviously, young witches collaborating on spells beyond their ability to control, that kind of thing. No demons summoned so far this term, as far as the committee can determine."

"If you want a part-time job…" Rosmerta began, before she was cut off by a 'WHOOSH' from the Three Broomsticks fireplace. Two Black cousins from the borderlands, Millicent wasn't sure which side, stepped out of the green flames.

"Welcome back," Millicent said. "We'll form up here and I'll walk with you to the castle. You can get something from the bar, just as long as it is a soft drink."

The two got their drinks and came back.

"Thank you, Professor Bulstrode," they said, then took up seats with a view of the fireplace.

Returnees started coming in fairly quickly, and it wasn't long before Black Christmas had more or less transposed itself to Hogsmeade and the Three Broomsticks. Cousins took up banter, some a little rowdy, but mostly fun. Millicent heard one exchange she resolved to commit to memory.

"He fancies her."

"I can't fancy her, she's my cousin!"

"She's as close a cousin to you as every witch and half the lady muggles on this island are. You're telling me you've gone and joined a monastery."

"No, I'm telling you I'm a scholar at Hogwarts who will be emigrating to Canada the day after graduation."

Millicent tried to settle up with Rosmerta, but Rosmerta wouldn't hear of it.

"I won't take your money, Millicent, not for this. I haven't had such a good time since, ah, since something that I oughtn't share in front of the assembled. Take them back and enjoy the walk," she said. "This is my treat."

Millicent turned around and faced the room.

"Everyone," she called out in her classroom voice. "We'll be starting back in just a moment, so before we go, Madame Rosmerta has informed me she will pick up the tab for this evening's refreshments, so a big thank-you is in order."

When the noise died down, Millicent called everyone to order again.

"I want everyone to pair up with another student. Look them in the face. If you still don't know their name, after Black Christmas, introduce yourselves. We will be walking back in the dark. The path isn't hard to follow in the snow, but we can't have anyone wandering away from the group and getting left behind. All set?"

Millicent led the group out the door, down the street past the Hogsmeade habitations and storefronts and on out of town via the path to the castle. Once outside the village, the only light was from the stars. When their eyes adjusted to the light, the snow cover aided in separating path from bordering fields. The air was brisk, not freezing, but bracing. Conversations ceased and the group proceeded in near-total silence, overwhelmed by the star show taking place just overhead. They walked along listening to their feet plowing through the snow, magic from the Milky Way mixing with magic from the Earth, inside the hearts of the young witches and wizards making their way back to Hogwarts.


	30. Chapter 30

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Thirty

Iolanthe Astoria Potter, Legacy

Just three weeks separated Black Christmas from the Hogwarts Midwinter Christmas-New Year's break. Both Iolanthe and Rose recognized the danger. The lingering effects of the short holiday in Cornwall could dull the senses, leading to sloppy thinking. Just because break was coming did not mean the intervening weeks could be a time of slack or shifting to a gliding mode in or out of the classroom. Those gingerbread houses would have to look out for themselves, for the young scholar-witches knew they craved work, not sloth.

Besides, there was Zelda. The charismatic first year had made the Gryffindor quidditch team, joining Harry Potter in the ranks of the legends. She wasn't the seeker yet, but she had tried out for keeper. The only alternative to playing her would have been for the Gryffindor captain to impress another player and no one wanted to move from their current position to hang around the goals. Zelda, though, just wanted to get on a broom and play quidditch, any broom, any position.

The first match of the season was held in late September, against Ravenclaw. Some Gryffindor supporters thought that fortunate, since the plucky Zelda would get her place in history, and one could hope that another keeper would emerge before the championship chase began in earnest. Many in the grandstands laughed when they saw eleven-year-old Zelda, padded up and helmeted, kicking off on her ten-year-old Shooting Star to circle the field with the other Gryffindors. The Gryffindor stands soon erupted with chants of 'Go Zelda Go' that put a stop to the laughter. Even the Gryffindors, though, thought Zelda would be so outmatched, it was natural to assume the Lions' strategy would be reduced to getting to the snitch as quickly as possible

From her first defense of a shot on goal Zelda established that she was a keeper, and one to be reckoned with. Few present knew of her history flying around Potter Manor, so her elegance aloft was a surprise. Her technique was good too, for a beginner, and seemed to evolve even as the game was being played. She began with good, but very conventional keeping, anticipating lines of attack and getting into position before the quaffle got to the goal. When she deflected a shot she sent it away from any Ravenclaw who might have a chance for a quick put-back. She knew the job involved more than slapping the quaffle right back into traffic, which in itself was a surprise for the more knowledgeable fans. Her saves were consistent, and she continued playing better than most people predicted.

The Ravenclaw chasers began coordinating better as they warmed up and their game blood began to flow. Quaffles were passed two, three or four times as the chasers closed in, while Zelda sat immobile on her broom focused on what they did with the quaffle rather than the feints and decoy movements. Quidditch fans believe in an ephemeral concept called 'goal instinct' that holds keepers can cultivate a sense for where an attack will end with a shot, by extension sensing which of the three goals needs to be the focus of their defense. Like many sports theories, the existence of goal instinct can't be proven, but if there is such a thing, Zelda showed in Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw that she had it.

Ninety minutes in, Zelda and Gryffindor were ahead 120-0. The crowds erupted everywhere but the Ravenclaw grandstand, where the Blues sat, with each successful defense. 'Go Zelda Go!' went up again and again. The Ravenclaws hunched, numbly gripping the edge of their seats, hopes rising with every attack, to be dashed when Zelda stopped another quaffle, by catching it more often than not. A catch let her pass to the Gryffindor chaser who would carry the quaffle and initiate the next attack. As the game went on, Zelda analyzed the chasers and identified what she thought was a weakness in the Ravenclaw defense. Three stops in a row resulted in three Gryffindor goals, leading to some frantic flying-about by Ravenclaw's captain as he tried to adjust to Gryffindor's exploitation.

At two hours, ten minutes, Gryffindor went up 160-0. Ravenclaw's only chance to win was to capture the snitch after getting twenty points back, a very distant possibility. Still, someone had to capture the snitch to end the game. The seekers had been flying about, occasionally giving chase, but the snitch proved to be elusive, disappearing into a clutch of attacking chasers before coming out at an angle no one anticipated and putting unreachable distance between itself and the seekers before either could react.

Until, at two hours, thirty minutes, Dorcas Flyte saw the snitch slip between two Ravenclaws, a chaser and a beater, as they briefly flew formation to start a play. Dorcas flew a little circumspect route, out and around, keeping her speed down, but she didn't take her eyes off the two Ravenclaws. The number of fans below who understood quidditch was much smaller than the total number of fans, but those who knew the game smelled blood. Harry, sitting next to Ron Weasley, nudged Ron's elbow with his own.

"I see her," Ron said. "Does she see it?"

"Looks like it," Harry said, "Judging by the way she's flying."

The retired players on the ground weren't the only ones who saw the change in Dorcas Flyte's flying. The Ravenclaw seeker, Stuart Rodgers, caught her tracking his two teammates, and saw her break off when the snitch made its move. The snitch split off just a few degrees from the Ravenclaws' heading, and Dorcas did the same.

She pulled up slightly on her broomstick and lay forward to reduce drag. The broom accelerated with the snitch. Stuart Rodgers nudged his broom sideways, then sideways a little more, and was suddenly directly in front of the speeding snitch. He took both hands off his broom, maneuvering with his legs to get position, put his hands together and let Dorcas Flyte chase the snitch right into them. He rolled right and dove out of Dorcas' path, clutched the snitch to his chest and waited for it to stop its bumblebee buzzing.

Seekers who caught the snitch while their team was behind by more than one hundred-forty points usually did so by accident. There were some occasions when the catch was done out of gallantry. After flying for two hours and thirty minutes, Ravenclaw had not scored a goal. Gryffindor was already ahead by more than the points awarded for catching the snitch, and no one saw a way forward for Ravenclaw, including Stuart Rodgers. Nevertheless, the rules called for the game to go on until someone caught the snitch. Rodgers decided to put an end to the misery.

The stands were silent while Rodgers flew down to show Madame Hooch the snitch and officially end the game. Dorcas Flyte watched what was happening. She could not help thinking she had been cheated out of 'her' win, and flew a solitary pattern high above everyone else, keeping to herself while she cooled down.

Madame Hooch blew her whistle, declared the game over and Gryffindor the winner. The stands erupted in cheers. Zelda flew down carefully and joined the other Gryffindors on the ground. Her female teammates, with the exception of Dorcas, tossed their brooms aside, relieved her of her Shooting Star and lifted her onto their shoulders. Former Gryffindor great Ginny Weasley ignored protocol and leapt the barricade, joining the Lioness' in hoisting their newest heroine aloft.

Most snitches caught by the losing side are taken back to the clubhouse and locked away someplace out of sight, since no one wants to be reminded of the ignominy of a mistaken capture, or the exercise of mercy to spare a team further humiliation. Very occasionally, the losing seeker will give the snitch to their counterpart, in a kind of 'You earned this' gesture. The Gryffindors didn't notice Rodgers until he was nearly in their midst. He walked straight up, not to Dorcas Flyte, but to Zelda, and held out his hand.

"This is for you," he said, "Good game."

Zelda opened her hand, and Rodgers pressed the snitch into the palm of her thick keeper's glove. He nodded once, turned and walked back to the Ravenclaws.

Even Ginny Weasley, the tough veteran of ten seasons of professional quidditch, stood slack-jawed, wondering what she had just witnessed. Dorcas Flyte walked by, trailing her broom.

"Good game, Davis," she said, heading for the changing room without breaking stride, or turning her head.

"Yeah, good game, Davis," said Harry as he walked up.

Ron was right behind, offering a congratulatory handshake.

"The first of many," Ron said, making Zelda blush.

Neville Longbottom walked up and quietly joined the group.

"Could we…?" he asked, drawing a circle with his finger meaning he wanted a word with Ron, Ginny and Harry. He pulled them aside so they could keep their conversation to themselves.

"Rumor has it there will be a small reception of sorts for the winners starting in fifteen or twenty minutes," Neville began. "Oddly enough, the venue will be…"

"The Gryffindor common room," said Ron, Ginny and Harry, as one.

"Which, by coincidence, is known to the three of you. The password is a compound—cock's comb," said Neville. "If you could make it, just for a few minutes, it would mean a lot to them."

Of course they went, after that personal invitation from the head of house. They waited for Zelda to change and let her lead the way, so the party that entered the Gryffindor common room filed in as such: Zelda Davis, Ginny Weasley, Ronald Weasley, and Harry Potter. The entrance was perfectly timed and the noise in the tower was deafening. Neville finally stood on the second step of the flight up to the dormitories and signaled for quiet.

"Well, done, team," Neville began, before being cut off again.

"Yes, alright, bear with me," Neville said when he'd reestablished order. "This one will be the subject of many quidditch stories for years to come and you were all there to see it, so savor the moment. Now, when we leave this room, let us remember the game ended with a gallant play by Ravenclaw's seeker. Ravenclaw was outplayed today, but they never quit, and they deserve our respect. Even though Rodgers made the decision for all of them, they flew off with their heads up. Let's treat them with some grace.

"Okay, enough preaching," Neville said, his tone sounding a little peppier. "There are some honored guests with us this afternoon, all Gryffindor alumni who have worn crimson robes on the pitch. Let me introduce Ronald Weasley, keeper! Harry Potter, seeker! And the greatest Gryffindor chaser in history, AND ten-season veteran Holyhead Harpy, Gin-ny We-e-e-eas-ley!"

The tower started vibrating all over again as soon as Neville's very credible announcing turn finished. Ginny, Harry and Ron formed an informal honor guard around Zelda, keeping the boisterous Gryffindor scrum at bay. Everyone wanted to shake hands, so Zelda got the full treatment, handshake, congratulations, and occasional pats, until Zelda turned to speak to Ginny.

"I'm supposed to see Mum and Dad in the Great Hall," she said.

"Oh, well, we'd better get you down there then," Ginny replied. Ginny motioned to Neville. "Blaise and Tracey are supposed to be downstairs. It's time for us to get out of here and let the youngsters have their party. Thanks for inviting us."

"I'm taking Zelda to find her parents," Ginny said to Ron as she pointed Zelda toward the portrait hole. "You and Harry shake hands and block for us for a few minutes."

Ron flashed a huge smile and nodded. Normally, quidditch fans wanted Ginny above all others. Who wouldn't? Even Ron had to admit she still had the looks, and the records. He'd just go ahead and enjoy the next few minutes until the Gryffindors got their fill of shaking hands with the scrubs. Rose emerged from the partying Gryffindors and joined Harry and Ron, miming Ron shaking hands and exchanging greetings. Ron didn't even fake taking offense.

Before long, Harry and Ron started feeling like they'd worn out their welcome, shook the last few hands offered, collected Rose, and followed in Ginny's wake.

"Coming?" Ron asked. "A little stop in the Great Hall? No telling who you'll see there. You won't miss anything, not in a common room quidditich celebration, at least in my experience."

Was that Harry stifling a laugh?

"What a game," Ron said as they descended a staircase. When they were students, that particular one moved a lot, consistently picking the worst possible time.

"She didn't miss once," Harry said. "Did you see her selecting the chaser after she caught the quaffle? She was setting up the play at the other end by choosing which chaser to pass to! She's barely practiced with them. How did she figure that out?"

"I don't know," Ron said. "It took a while for me to catch on to what she was doing. That's some pretty sophisticated quidditch, even for a sixth or seventh year. Uncanny."

Rose walked along with them, confining her part of the conversation to 'Mmm-hmm!' which she used sparingly. Rose was always amazed by the amount of time Ron, Charley and Harry could spend talking about quidditch. She wondered if she would have a like subject in twenty or thirty years, something she rambled on and on about with Iolanthe, even though it no longer had any bearing on their lives. Reflecting on the conversation later that evening, Rose admitted to herself she'd never heard of keepers analyzing defenses and determining attack strategy. Perhaps, she thought, the inner game of quidditch was more interesting than the raucous, visible flying-about she'd assumed it to be.

Harry, Rose and Ron found Ginny with Blaise, Tracey and Zelda all sitting with Millicent at the end of the Slytherin table in the Great Hall.

"So," Harry said, beaming at Zelda. "May I say, we are so happy to have you in Gryffindor?"

Ron, Ginny and Rose muttered affirmations, despite the clutch of Slytherins. Zelda smiled and looked down.

"Did you bring the snitch?" Ron asked. Blaise reached into his pocket and produced the snitch.

"It was given to me for safe-keeping," he said, his voice coming out sounding unusually husky.

Iolanthe and Scorpius wandered in.

"Aha!" Iolanthe said, walking up and pulling Zelda to her. "Word is you're woman of the year, at least in Gryffindor, Zelda Davis."

"Congratulations, that really was a great game," Scorpius added as he turned and gave a little nod. "Rose."

"Scorpius."

Iolanthe got a hug from Tracey and shook hands with Blaise.

"Father," Iolanthe offered.

"Iolanthe Astoria," Harry said. "Your Mum says hello, and she loves you."

Iolanthe blinked her eyes twice or three times, very rapidly. Then she gave in to the emotion and clamped her arms around Harry, squeezing very hard.

"Same to her," Iolanthe whispered.

"Tomorrow?" she asked Zelda after she broke from Harry, and she and Scorpius turned to go.

"Of course," said Zelda.

"What's tomorrow?" Tracey asked.

"Books," Zelda said. "It's our day to sit down with Iolanthe, Rose and Scorpius and go over what we did last week. I have to keep Professor Longbottom's confidence I can play and study both. No marks, no quidditch."

"Oh, I like Professor Longbottom's approach," Tracey said.

"We heard rumors," came a voice from outside the great doors. Harry turned and saw Hugo and James stroll in. It was less than a month and they'd changed, almost transfigured, Harry thought.

Hugo looked stretched out, somehow. Harry thought he might have lost a little weight. James had been at Hogwarts a very short time but had found his weekend wardrobe—khaki trousers, black tee, black and yellow plaid wool overshirt, unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms.

"Well," Harry said, fists on hips, looking the youngsters up and down. "Do you run the place yet?"

"Nah," said James. "I think that's Iolanthe."

Hugo nodded.

"For a little while longer," Hugo said.

There were three or four mini-reunions happening simultaneously, although no one was counting. Down in the kitchens, Winky heard there might be a need for refreshments, and showed up with two carafes, tea and coffee, and an offer of hot chocolate were anyone interested.

The adults had traveling ahead and the students had curfews and lights-out. The group broke up with another round of congratulations for Zelda and promises for return visits and more quidditch, promises that were kept through the fall and early winter.

Gryffindor had one quidditch match between Black Christmas and the Christmas-New Year's break. Slytherin. Harry had come to Gryffindor's Saturday matches, even bringing Daphne once. That hadn't worked as well as he'd have liked, because Daphne, pregnancy, quidditch and the wooden benches proved to be an uncomfortable combination, so they'd left after forty minutes.

Gryffindor had won every match but one since Zelda's astonishing debut against Ravenclaw. The one loss had come on an early snitch capture by Slytherin's seeker. It was not a fluke, exactly, but the snitch wasn't flying the most deceptive course, Slytherin's seeker got position on Dorcas Flyte, the one-hundred-fifty points for catching the snitch were more than adequate, and the match was over at thirty-two minutes. Nothing to be done about it, and the keepers didn't really figure in the outcome.

Zelda, the youngest Gryffindor player, was devastated. Two of the upper class girls sat down on either side of Zelda on the changing room bench.

"Zelda, buck up," said one.

"You didn't do anything wrong," said the other. "You played a perfect game at your end. There was nothing you could do."

"We weren't just playing Slytherin today," said the first girl. "We put our skills up against theirs and we see what shakes out. BUT, there are three types of projectiles flying around out there, and a huge element of chance. You can't account for all that. You can't overcome it."

"Quidditch is a metaphor for Life," said the second girl, breaking into a very satisfied-looking smile. "That's why we play."

Normally, December quidditch in Scotland was just what it sounded like. Cold, windy, half-frozen, chance of snow. Chance of sleet, for that matter. Hands may freeze around broomsticks, please dress accordingly.

Harry didn't want to go to the December match, even if it was Gryffindor vs. Slytherin. He thought his place was with Daphne, who was still seeing a limited number of patients at St. Mungo's, but was expected to move to Greengrass Manor shortly after New Year's.

The arrangements were very much the same as for Iolanthe and James, although the nursery setup had two of everything this time. The runes had been saying they were getting boys, so blue predominated. Daphne's healer and the midwife talked after each exam. Arrangements were in place to accommodate a change in plan and delivery at St. Mungo's if medical necessity dictated, but Daphne was very attached to Greengrass Manor, Kendra and Tracey, and was counting on a no-complications delivery and welcome for her newcomers.

"Harry Potter, I do not need you here," Daphne said at one point. "This is December. February is two months off. If you can't read a calendar have Mercury explain it to you."

"Mrs. Potter," Harry began, or tried to.

"MISTER POTTER," Daphne came back, "You aren't going to pull rank on me, in my condition, are you? As I lay back accommodating these, these, TWINS you implanted in me, unable to stand and fight, as I am? Did I mention my condition?"

"You did, thanks so much for the reminder, and I promise not to do that," Harry said. "You know I am eternally grateful for the wisdom you've dispensed, going back, how many years? I lose track. But that isn't the point, at least not entirely. I feel my place is here, running your errands and so on, while you're in your condition, not in Scotland watching students play a students' game in abominable weather. Here, allow me to plump that pillow."

"Thank-you, that really is better," Daphne said, sinking back, "Even if you were trying to curry favor with a woman whose combative skills are temporarily degraded due to her condition. Can we wrap this up? My feet will appreciate a rub as soon as we're done but if I have to make my case while you're rubbing I'll be at a disadvantage. Why don't we just take it as read you'll go to the match with Father and Tracey, bundle up and endure the same weather Zelda will be enduring. You're the Gryffindor! She's flying for you, for Merlin's sake!"

"It's not the weather," Harry said, then he added, "As you well know."

"Oh, Harry Potter, no wonder your daughter thinks she can bend dragons to her will," Daphne said. "I don't need you here. It's Zelda. She's a starting quidditch player. She's kept Gryffindor competitive all season as a first-year. Does that resonate with you? Potter? Bane of Slytherin quidditch?"

"That is completely unfair," Harry said. "Especially coming from a self-confessed non-quidditch fan. The look on your face says you know it, too."

"Do you know what, Harry Potter? I don't really worry, at times like this, whether it is fair or not. I think you're worried the wee ones will come early and you'll be off in Scotland watching quidditch while I am attended by my witches in your absence," Daphne said. "You fear a lifetime of whispers behind cupped hands, 'There goes Harry Potter, he was off in Scotland watching quidditch when his wife was in labor, poor dear.' That's what I think."

"It would be true," Harry pointed out, thinking he was using logic. "One hundred percent. The gossips would be right for a change."

"Only if I did go into labor, which I'm not going to do," Daphne said. "Now, if you'll just agree to do that one little thing, go up to Hogwarts and watch a quidditch match, something you've successfully accomplished many times before, then I'll take my foot rub. Please fill my water glass before you start, and kindly add another lemon wedge. Thank-you."

He'd been out-maneuvered, not defeated in an honest debate, Harry knew, but it was time to yield. Daphne made good points. She always made good points. Harry just thought he'd ought to be close by, just in the event…of what? Even if Daphne did go into labor, there should be plenty of time to send for Harry, and for him to get back to Potter Manor.

Besides, if he were at Hogwarts, and word arrived to return, posthaste, he would be able to gather Iolanthe and James and bring them back as well. Instructional time before break would be down to hours, literally, by the day of the match. Harry's precocious students would do fine without their last few class sessions, and he was pretty sure he could negotiate their release with the faculty and administration.

Harry surrendered with all possible grace and began planning the quidditch trip. An owl was sent to each Potter with a presumptive outline of the day's schedule, footnoting the possible contingency of an early visit from the stork. Tracey owled Zelda and assured her she and Harry would be there to watch her match, Blaise having some business commitments he couldn't escape.

Saturday was game day, and there could not have been a more perfect December day for quidditch if one had been custom-designed and manufactured. A small area of high pressure formed over the Atlantic, crossed Ireland in the wee hours and was passing over Hogwarts for most of Saturday. Townspeople from Hogsmeade donned tweed capes and went around the shops greeting friends and neighbors. Some observed the weather could have been charmed in recognition of the big match at the quidditch grounds. The air was chilly, but not bitter cold, wind was negligible, and what clouds came by were high up and fluffy. Goggles to combat tearing-up were the only cold-weather gear the players would need.

Harry and Tracey planned to sit with Gryffindor. Tracey declined Harry's offer of a crimson and gold scarf. She had the good manners not to wear green and silver while sitting with the Gryffindors, although her tweed cape was a tasteful, subdued green and light gray pattern. Harry even got James and Hugo to join them, in a kind of extended family section.

Iolanthe and Scorpius wouldn't hear of sitting anywhere but the Slytherin stands, of course, Zelda or no Zelda. Both of them still harbored a bit of Walburga Black's disbelief that the sorting hat could rob them of Zelda. As much as they shared Zelda's joy in getting to play, it hurt to see her in that crimson robe.

The day was close to perfect for mid-winter quidditch. A little more breeze would have been nice, to lift the pennants atop their poles, but Slytherin vs. Gryffindor didn't require a lot of pageantry to put some drama into the match.

Neville Longbottom walked to the pitch with Millicent Bulstrode and Ginny Weasley. The party stopped where the paths to the spectator sections branched.

"Professor Bulstrode," Neville said, extending his hand.

Students flowed around them on both sides, so the two observed the formalities.

"Professor Longbottom," Millicent replied, taking a firm hold.

"Good luck," Neville said.

"Good luck," Millicent returned.

"So, Ginny?" Neville asked, extending an implicit invitation to sit with the Gryffindors.

Millicent's grip bore down on Neville's calloused gardener's hand.

"Prior commitment, I'm afraid, Professor," Millicent said. "Best to Hannah."

Ginny had to turn away to preserve everyone's dignity.

Neville found Harry, James, Rose, Hugo and Tracey in the Gryffindor section. Fabio sat with his Slytherin grandchildren, staking a Potter-Greengrass claim on Slytherin to complement the one across the way. The match commenced with some flying about, setting up of plays that were quickly broken up, exchange of the quaffle and repetition at the opposite end. Slytherin's shots on goal were perfunctory.

Zelda deflected two quaffles without much difficulty, got position on a third, and caught it. She passed to the first chaser flying past. The chaser took off down the right side, and the other two Gryffindors formed up behind her. The Slytherin beaters tried deflecting the bludgers into the Gryffindors, but the bludgers went well wide. Crossing the half mark, the lead chaser turned just left of a course straight for the middle Slytherin goal. The second stayed with her, but the third went right. The leader tossed the quaffle with a no-look backwards pass and bore on, breaking up the Slytherin defense. The second chaser barely touched the quaffle, throwing it right and slightly upwards, connecting with the breaking chaser who put it through the right hand goal, catching the Slytherin keeper out of position.

It was a perfectly-executed scoring play. The lead chaser circled back to the Gryffindor goal to set up for defense, giving Zelda a "Well-played, Davis," as she flew by. The Slytherins found their offense, flying at the Gryffindor goals, and Zelda, at furious speed whenever they got the quaffle. Zelda wasn't keeping track, but the statisticians were, and she defended fifty-nine times in the first sixty minutes, giving up one score.

Slytherin's chasers were wearing themselves out in the sustained attack, getting very little to show for it. Someone passed a bag down their row, and Harry reached in, eyes on the game and another Slytherin attack. He pulled out a button, three inches across, a crimson field with gold letters that spelled out 'Go Zelda Go!'

Harry offered the first button to Tracey, who accepted it, sat there looking at it, sighed, and fastened it to her cape. She wondered if any Slytherin would ever speak to her again.

At sixty-eight minutes, Tracey watched as Zelda caught a shot and sat on her broomstick, shifting the quaffle from hand to hand. She skipped the first chaser, and the second, and the third. The first chaser had flown past and followed with a tight, one-half figure-eight, flashed by in the opposite direction and took a very snappy pass from Zelda.

The Slytherins were stuck out of position, the full length of the field. Gryffindor's chaser did not hang around waiting for a follow-up, but lay down on her broom and flew straight at the center Slytherin goal. The Slytherin keeper had no options but to hold position in front of the chaser. Two feints and one brief braking maneuver and Gryffindor had ten more points.

Tracey kept watching Zelda, even though the play had moved down the pitch. Zelda sat on her broomstick, blew into her cupped hands, clapped them together, and used them for a megaphone.

"She's doing everything with her hands but hanging onto that broom!" Tracey said to Harry, who'd been fixated on the Gryffindor attack like nearly everyone else in the stands.

"Ah, I wouldn't worry," Harry assured Tracey. "It's just a Shooting Star, and she's got a good seat."

Tracey didn't share Harry's confidence but had to acknowledge to herself there really wasn't anything she could do right at that moment. The Slytherins were charging the Gryffindor goals, and Zelda sucked in her breath and got in position to defend, eyes locked on the quaffle, both hands free, out away from her broom about waist high. Tracey was finally inspired to join in:

"GO ZELDA GO! GO ZELDA GO!"

The game wasn't really that dramatic, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin or not, other than Zelda's performance. Later, when the numbers were totaled, it was found she had set a school record for consecutive successful defenses, earning a place for her name on a quaffle in the school trophy case.

The game ended when Dorcas Flyte captured the snitch. Even that wasn't very dramatic. The Slytherin chaser was flying around at the opposite end of the field when the snitch popped up in front of Dorcas. It was fast, but it flew straight and level and Dorcas caught up to it before her counterpart could get to the action. Madame Hooch blew her whistle and declared the game over. The players flew down to the field, Zelda coming down slowly and carefully in all the traffic. A few 'Go Zelda Go' cheers went up here and there.

Zelda stopped and hovered right in front of Tracey while she waited for a space to open.

"Hold onto that broom!" Tracey shouted.

Zelda waved, then, without taking hold of the broomstick, she did a no-hands loop-the-loop that looked like it ought to be physically impossible, stabilized and gave Tracey a big smile before letting the broom drift down to the pitch.

Zelda was surrounded by the Gryffindor chasers, all clapping her on the back and congratulating her on her game. The chasers all credited the twelve-year old Zelda with their scoring success since the beginning of the season. She had a way of mixing up her passes that kept opposing defenses from settling into a routine of defeating the same attack over and over. Thanks to Zelda's strategy, Gryffindor was regularly scoring over one hundred-fifty points, and her goal keeping was making it very difficult for the other teams to stay close.

As had nearly become tradition, Dorcas Flyte walked past the celebrating Gryffindors without a word and went straight to the change area.

Harry and Tracey were milling around the pitch, shaking hands with classmates and acquaintances when Hugo and James showed up with Iolanthe, Scorpius and Fabio. Tracey saw Iolanthe staring at her Go Zelda Go! button and reached up to take it off.

"Don't, Tracey, please," Iolanthe said, nearly begging. She looked around and didn't see Zelda. "Changing?"

"Yes, in there," Tracey nodded her head in the direction of Gryffindor's changing rooms.

"I need one," Iolanthe muttered. "Where'd you get them?"

"Someone passed a bag of them through the stands," Harry said. "You can have mine. I expect you'll want to collect it when you get home for break."

A flashbulb went off as the group was standing there talking.

"That's very sensitive and accommodating of you, Father," Iolanthe said. A bowtruckle emerged from a fold in Iolanthe's Slytherin cape and looked around. James extended a finger and the little twig climbed aboard, taking up a position on James' shoulder.

Zelda came up, trotting all the way from the changing room exit into a massive hug from Tracey.

"Great game, Zelda!" went around the group.

"So, post-match plans?" Harry asked. "Can I assume Zelda is required in the common room, at least for a few minutes?"

"Uh, sort of," Zelda confessed.

"How about tea in my room?" Millicent suggested. "You'll all fit."

"Can you meet us at Professor Bulstrode's room when you're done?" Tracey asked.

"Sure," said Zelda, before trotting off to join some teammates heading for the castle.

Harry and Tracey fell in with Millicent, Ginny followed along with Hugo and James, and Neville, Fabio, Rose, Scorpius and Iolanthe brought up the rear. Harry took note of some older Slytherins standing in a group off the path, assessed they weren't reconstituted Dark Army types, and walked on.

Millicent's rooms were commodious, but not ostentatious. Unlike some of the faculty, Millicent had a life outside Hogwarts. She didn't have a lot of patience for frou-frou, other than a plaque with the Slytherin serpent in silver on a field of emerald green, and a magical photo of Ginny in an ornate frame on her desk. The photo showed Ginny in late career, on a broom with a Harpies robe fluttering behind her. Harry thought of Colin Creevy's photo of him in Daphne's room at Greengrass Manor and had to will himself to focus on what was going on around him.

Millicent called for Winky and arranged for tea and some vanilla wafers. There wasn't a plan, but before long some affinity groups had formed. Millicent and Harry talked basic dueling forms with Hugo. Neville and Fabio bemoaned the state of the gardening column in the Daily Prophet while James stood there taking in every word. Iolanthe, Rose and Scorpius chatted up Tracey while they waited for Zelda. Harry noticed the end of some knitting project peeking out of Rose's bag, something in emerald green.

Zelda arrived, face flushed, and crossed the room to Tracey.

"It's not official," she burst out, "BUT, the stats say I set a school record!"

"That's fantastic, sweetheart," Tracey said, "Did they say for what?"

"Most consecutive saves in a game," Zelda said. "It has to be confirmed first, of course."

"Of course it does," Tracey said. "One way or the other, you're a star."

The little party broke up shortly afterwards, everyone giving Zelda one last 'Great game, Zelda' before splitting off in four or five different directions. Harry, Tracey and Fabio would be walking toward Hogsmeade to get outside the Hogwarts wards before apparating to Potter Manor. Iolanthe and James walked as far as the great doors with them.

"Tell Mother," Iolanthe began, as she and Harry stopped for a hug and good-bye. She didn't get any further.

"Break's right around the corner," Harry said, holding Iolanthe. "Just do what you're doing for a few more days and we'll all be together. I'll give your mum your message."

"I didn't give it to you yet," Iolanthe said, a little chuckle just audible in her voice.

"Oh, I think I know what it is by now," Harry said. "James."

James and Harry shook hands.

Iolanthe got back to the dungeons and pulled out Astoria's copy of _The Odyssey_. Artemis was right, Odysseus was the best role model for mortals. When Iolanthe needed a reset, she spent a little time with Odysseus, and, she was certain, Astoria.

Iolanthe hadn't been reading long when Lissette Lestrange poked her head into the room. She looked around.

"Are you alone?" she asked.

"Just me," Iolanthe answered. "What's up?"

"Can you come to the Owlery?" Lissette asked, her voice unnaturally low. "Fifteen minutes?"

"I suppose," Iolanthe said, meaning to ask what was on Lissette's mind, but Lissette was already gone.

Fifteen minutes later, Iolanthe arrived at the top of the staircase that opened onto the owlery. Lissette was already there.

"Are you alone?" Lissette asked again, looking out onto the landing.

"Yes," said Iolanthe, stepping aside as Lissette looked out to confirm what Iolanthe had said. "Why the cloak and dagger?"

"Iolanthe," said Lissette, "Please listen. I've been warned to stay away from you. I said something about knowing you at a family thing, months ago. I forgot all about it. Today, after we nodded when you all walked by, someone pulled me aside and told me to stay well clear, of you and all the Potters. I asked what they meant. All I got was a look."

Iolanthe leaned back against the stone wall.

After thinking a moment she asked, "Is this about that financial deal crack-up they blame on Harry? He wasn't even in government when that happened."

"I don't know," Lissette said. "There was something about the way it was said. I've been told to stay clear, and there are ways they can find out if I'm not. Slytherins, you know."

"You're scared?" Iolanthe asked.

"A bit," Lissette answered. Iolanthe looked at the sliver of moon just starting to appear above the horizon. Lissette sounded like she was more than a bit scared.

"Well, then, let's agree we'll comply," Iolanthe said. "They can't object to that. Opposite ends of the table at meals, only one of us in the common room at a time. If you need to talk, just leave a note under my pillow. I'll check it whenever I'm in the room. Put down the time you want to see me. Draw a little moon for the owlery. A sun means the astronomy tower. We can go to either of those separately, and cancel if there is anyone else around. Otherwise, as long as you're uncomfortable with the situation, we barely know one another, and never speak."

"That works," Lissette said. "I'm so sorry, Iolanthe."

Iolanthe looked out and down the staircase. Seeing no one, she stepped over to Lissette and gave her a little hug.

"Don't be scared," Iolanthe said. "We'll work it out. You have exams to focus on. Now, you go first. I've got a story if anyone shows up. I'm just here checking up on the Black owls."

Lissette took fifteen minutes to check on the owls. Her story wasn't far from the truth. She made sure to bring plenty of jerky or bacon up to the owlery several times a week, just to make sure the flock was getting its nutrition. She knew most of the names, and the ones she didn't know did not seem to mind being Big Guy and Sweetheart.

Lissette kept her ears open and her mouth shut about all things Potter. The two didn't talk again until just before Christmas break. Iolanthe slipped her hand under her pillow one afternoon and found a little square of parchment.

"7:00," it said, next to a sun with a smiling face.

Iolanthe left the common room a little before seven, a library book under her arm. The book was filled with star charts for Scotland. Iolanthe would just go by the astronomy tower to check a few things with the instruments up there, then take the book back to the library.

Iolanthe stood on a balcony that had a good view of the stairs and opened her book. She waited for five minutes and no one came up behind her. She did a circuit of the top floor and was satisfied she was alone. Lissette arrived a few minutes after seven.

"Over here," Iolanthe spoke from a shadowy corner next to the balcony.

"Merry Christmas," Iolanthe said when Lissette got to her corner.

"Merry Christmas," Lissette said. "Happy New Year."

"Are we done?" Iolanthe asked.

"No—" Lissette began, before she got the joke. "Iolanthe! That's funny."

"Here," Iolanthe said, moving over. "Let me stand there, you take the shadow."

Iolanthe vacated her corner and moved to a spot nearer the balcony, keeping her open book visible. She drew her wand and cast _muffliato_. If a hostile party spotted them together at least they wouldn't overhear their conversation.

"So—" Iolanthe said, making it a question.

"There are people who want to make some changes at the ministry," Lissette began. "Kingsley Shacklebolt has been there too long, he and his gang need to get out and give someone else a turn, the usual political talk. It sounds like your father in particular annoys them."

"Do you know who or why?" Iolanthe asked.

"Power. Money. Greed. A little more tolerance for Dark Magic, nothing scary, just convenience' sake," Lissette said. "I think we both know where that leads. Who is more difficult. Your friend Goyle fancies himself a budding observer of the magical political scene, turns to the editorials in the Daily Prophet first thing, shoves bacon in his mouth while he's reading the opinions at breakfast. He's been dropping little hints about shifts in magical viewpoints. He sounds harmless. He could still be right."

Iolanthe looked at Lissette, trying to decide if Lissette was onto something or if she'd been affected by the mysterious nature of Harry's job, let herself get caught up in the romance, and fabricated a conspiracy out of odd coincidences and half-facts.

"Lissette, we have to look out for you," Iolanthe said. "Thank you for telling me. Now, we'll keep our distance as usual. Don't go exposing yourself over break. Don't ask questions or insert yourself into conversations because you think you heard something suspicious. If you do you'll call attention to yourself, and you don't want that. Understand? If we're lucky, there won't be one more comment that causes you concern.

"Where's your next stop?" Iolanthe asked.

"Back to the common room," Lissette answered.

"Here," Iolanthe said, holding out some sheets of parchment she'd kept under the cover of her book. The sheets had some astronomical data from homework Iolanthe had done.

"In case you get stopped and they demand to know what you were doing up here. Now, go on back and we'll get together when we come back from break."

Iolanthe waited twenty minutes, occupying her time identifying stars and recording their elevations. She thought it might be fun to walk home to Devon from Scotland at Easter break, navigating by the stars. She resolved to talk it over with Daphne as soon as she got home.


	31. Chapter 31

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Thirty-One

Iolanthe Astoria's De-Brief

Iolanthe resolved to keep her interactions with Lissette Lestrange strictly compartmentalized until she could get home and engage Harry in a private conversation. It wasn't particularly hard. She had two close friends at Hogwarts, Rose and Scorpius. Rose was in Gryffindor so she didn't sit on a common room leather sofa with Rose, girl-to-girl, swapping gossip and letting go of secrets. Scorpius was not into common room socializing either, much preferring to spend his free time in the library with Brother Glott, or at the little desk in the dormitory where he drafted page after corrected page of his updated tales of Merlin.

The Blacks had a grand time on the journey back to King's Cross. Scorpius, Iolanthe and Rose stuck together, occupying a compartment with Zelda, with occasional pop-ins by James and Hugo. Black cousins passed through in a continuous stream, hugging, extending Christmas and New Year's wishes, even congratulating Zelda on her terrific streak with the quidditch Lions. The last took Iolanthe somewhat by surprise, because the Blacks from the other three houses seemed just as taken with Zelda as were she and Scorpius.

Lissette stayed in the open car at the end of the train. The Slytherins usually got there early in sufficient numbers to repel non-Slytherins. Iolanthe assumed she'd be there so she didn't go back to work the crowd, advising Scorpius she'd prefer he go represent her, so she could stay with Rose and Zelda.

Rose waited until Scorpius was gone and the three were alone in the compartment before getting into her bag and removing an emerald green tissue paper parcel with a silver bow and a little parchment tag that said 'SCORPIUS' in Rose's beautiful script.

"Zelda?" said Rose as she waved her wand at Scorpius' small canvas bag.

"Uh-huh?" said Zelda.

"There is a rule, which you now have to observe," Rose said. Scorpius' bag lay on the seat where Rose had just been sitting. She waved her wand again and the bag opened up.

"Okay," Zelda said a little hesitation evident in her voice.

Rose lay the parcel on top of Scorpius' things, closed the bag and waved it back onto the overhead rack.

"The rule is, you're a witch, just like me, and you didn't see anything," Rose summed up.

"Oh," Zelda said, getting the picture. "Okay! That's a great rule!"

Iolanthe looked on without saying anything.

"The Rule? You do remember the Rule, don't you?" Rose asked Iolanthe.

Iolanthe put her forefinger and thumb together and drew them across her lips in a zipping motion. Then she reached out to Rose, her pinky extended. Rose wrapped her pinky around Iolanthe's and they pressed their thumb tips together.

"King's-X, super-secret, if I'm lyin' I'm dyin'" they repeated in unison, while Zelda looked on.

"Did you just curse yourselves?" Zelda nearly whispered.

"Only according to some interpretations," Rose explained, as the compartment door opened.

Scorpius entered, followed by James and Hugo.

"Almost there, Io-la," James said, reverting to the name he'd used until he was four or five.

"My name is Iolanthe, Jee-Jee," Iolanthe said, implying two could play that game.

Everyone in the compartment had grown up with that insider knowledge so no feelings were permanently damaged. Scorpius got his bag down from the overhead. Zelda gave Rose a co-conspirator look, which Rose gave back.

"What are you bringing home for trophies, Zelda?" Scorpius asked.

"The only thing I got was this," Zelda said, opening a canvas satchel and pulling out a good-sized piece of parchment.

Rose had seen the parchment before, but kept her peace so Zelda could have her big moment. Zelda handed the parchment to Scorpius.

"Zelda!" Scorpius said, handing the parchment on to Iolanthe. "A school record in quidditch, as a first-year! That might be the first time ever! Why didn't you tell us?"

"I wanted to surprise you," Zelda explained.

"That is very impressive, Zelda," Iolanthe said. "Beyond impressive. Do your parents know?"

"What for?" said James, a little frustrated at the delay.

Iolanthe handed him the parchment.

"Most consecutive saves by a keeper," Iolanthe said as James took the parchment, "Ever."

"Ever," repeated Zelda and Rose together.

"We've got to work harder," Hugo said, looking at James. James just stared at Zelda, finally nodding in agreement.

The scene on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was as chaotic as ever. Parents hugged children, only some of whom hugged back, having outgrown parental hugs during the previous semester. Scorpius and Draco stood apart from the general scrum in a little eddy next to one of the great brick columns and let the crowds surge around them. Draco looked Scorpius up and down, assessed he'd neither gained nor lost excessive weight, checked his coloring, haircut and general appearance, and concluded he wasn't showing any physical signs of depression. Draco thought Scorpius might have grown two more inches since September, unless Draco himself had shrunk.

Scorpius did a similar inventory of Draco. He thought Daphne and Tracey would be careful to observe Draco closely, but there is no substitute to being there oneself. Draco looked like he was coping, but Scorpius knew Draco was well-practiced at keeping his own counsel. He resolved to get some professional advice from his Aunt Daphne when the opportunity arose.

The Granger-Weasleys and the Potters were clumped together as usual, although Daphne had skipped the trip to the station. Iolanthe kept a lookout for anyone she thought looked like a Lestrange, but particularly Lissette, because she thought if she caught them far enough away she could turn discreetly so as not to cause undue distress.

Harry looked everyone over. Tracey hadn't been able to come to the station, and Daphne was reclining on something comfortable at Potter Manor, so Zelda was among his charges.

"Got everyone?" he asked, three being too high a number for his primitive brain to understand.

James and Zelda thought it somewhat funny, Iolanthe looked at her feet and let it pass.

"Got everything?" Harry went on. "Bags, wands? Apparation point this way. Bye, all."

There were waves all around, and Rose and Iolanthe blew kisses to everyone in the other's party.

"First stop will be #12 Grimmauld Place," Harry said, sounding like the guide on one of the tour buses. "Your mother knows, so no need to pursue that line of questioning. Kreacher hasn't seen a lot of us and specifically volunteered to take on the laundry of the returning students, and to prepare a light welcome-back tea. I think tea is to give you all strength to continue the journey to Potter Manor. It might also be giving her a little more time to recline."

"How is she?" Iolanthe asked. Iolanthe was getting little notes daily, and Daphne was consistently telling her the same thing—the twins were making her uncomfortable, she was still sleeping but she wouldn't be for long, and Iolanthe was not to worry. Iolanthe took it all as authoritative, most of the time, except when doubts rose up and convinced her Daphne's cheer was fabricated for Iolanthe's peace of mind.

Iolanthe had the ability to control her thoughts. She liked facts. She distrusted stray portents about impending disaster. Even so, she was a creature of the same mental architecture as every other young witch. How do I look? What do they think of me? Did I do something wrong? What if Potter Manor burns down and kills Mother and Father and James and I'm not there? Iolanthe exerted her will, several times a day, and forced herself back from visions of doom emanating from the twins her mother was carrying.

Harry got everyone to a discreet apparation point and worked out grips on hand baggage and each other. Harry regretted the need to apparate. When he had been an auror, he'd often walked the streets around King's Cross. It wasn't just a muggle station, and there were always witches and wizards needing to come and go, hence, there was always a possibility of magical mischief, malpractice or misadventure. Harry had been happy when he drew St. Pancras as his patrol area, especially when he had Ron or Neville as his partner. He knew the blocks in every direction well enough to draw a fairly accurate map from memory. It would have been a refreshing walk for Harry and his flock to Islington, and #12, but he was obliged to watch the time, so they'd have to travel by apparation.

"Here we go," he said, and the group passed through the place that made them all think they were in the neck of a funnel and they emerged with a 'POP' on the top step before #12, just as Kreacher opened the door.

"Welcome, Lord Harry, and all of our young Honorables, Miss Iolanthe, Miss Zelda, and Master James. Your trunks have arrived and the clothing will be going to the laundry. Your other items are on your beds. If you'd like to freshen up, please come along as soon as you're finished and tea will be served in the dining room."

A chorus of 'Hi, Kreacher' and 'Thank-you, Kreacher' rang through the foyer as everyone pulled off capes and jackets and handed them over. Iolanthe and Zelda jogged up the stairs, while James levitated up, backwards, smiling and waving at Harry.

"How is everything, Kreacher?" Harry asked as he washed his hands at the kitchen sink.

"#12 Grimmauld Place is well, Lord Harry," Kreacher said. "Everything is in a kind of dormancy with the family away."

"I understand, Kreacher," Harry said. "I am, too, if that is any comfort. In a state of dormancy, that is. I know they need to be in school, but once we get used to their voices…Well, enough of that. February is coming. Are you ready?"

"Kreacher is ready, Lord Harry," said the elf, "As is your home. The magic of the young wizards will be most welcome."

Harry really wanted to say something nice in response to Kreacher's kind remarks but the feet thundering downstairs precluded everything else. Harry walked out of the kitchen to round up the children

"Dining room, please, everyone," Harry said. "Kreacher has tea and we'll all take a break here. I'd like a short report from everyone, if you can manage."

"I wanted to talk to you about a greenhouse," James said, then, "Thanks, Kreacher," as the tea arrived.

"Teddy built a small one, and I think it should be fairly easy to put one up at the manor. There was one there before, according to Grandfather," James went on.

"Do you have a plan?" Harry said.

"Teddy promised me his," James said.

"Fine," Harry said. "Let's arrange to get the plans and the materials list, I'll organize those and we'll get started. Can we finish it over break?"

"Merlin, something's wrong if we don't," James said. "Like I said, it's small."

"I got this," Zelda said, handing over a piece of parchment.

Harry took the sheet and looked it over, his eyes getting wider and wider. He looked at Zelda and went back to reading. Zelda sat silently while Iolanthe smiled at her from across the table.

"Zelda," Harry said. He searched for words.

"Zelda," he said again, "This is just, just, amazing. A school record in your first season. Does your mother know?"

"Not yet," Zelda said, drawing the words out, "Nor Dad."

"I'm very proud to know you, Zelda," Harry said. "You've written your name in Gryffindor history. Remarkable."

He handed the parchment back with a, "Take care of that until we can get it in a frame. How are you getting it home?"

Tracey and Zelda were the stewards of the Black estate, and technically the occupants, but Harry and everyone else was so accustomed to Zelda's integration into the Potters that they all knew he meant Potter Manor when he said 'home.'

"I have a bag upstairs," Zelda said.

Kreacher's tea and the little cakes and cookies were as delicious as ever, but Harry did have a schedule in mind. He sent everyone to collect whatever they needed before gathering in the salon. Harry took a handful of floo powder, stepped into the fireplace behind the children and said, "Potter Manor."

Daphne heard the 'WHOOSH' of the green flames in the main salon. She lay on a long couch in a smaller room on the ground floor that was still being sorted out. It looked something like a gallery, with a lot of Lawrence Davis originals on the walls, but it had been getting more and more books, which resulted in assembly of more bookshelves, so it was taking on some aspects of a library. No one assigned the room a theme and the family was getting used to its multiple functions, so when Harry thought about it, he thought it might evolve naturally into some new species of magical library-study-gallery, prove useful, and relax into a steady state of some hybrid kind.

"Mother!"

"Mum!"

"Daphne!"

The shouts rolled in from the main salon, followed shortly by the children. Iolanthe and Zelda knelt before Daphne's couch, dispensed kisses and barely contained themselves. They were dying to touch Daphne's belly, but were polite enough to keep their hands to themselves until invited. Still, they couldn't help staring, the phenomenon was that compelling.

"Go ahead, they won't mind," Daphne said. "James…"

Daphne reached up and James leaned down and put a little peck on her cheek.

Zelda and Iolanthe took Daphne at her word and began using their flat hands to navigate around the twins.

"I think this is a head," Zelda whispered, and Iolanthe shifted her hand.

"That was a kick!" Iolanthe said. "Did you feel that?"

"Yes," said Daphne and Zelda together.

December or not, Daphne wasn't wearing a whole lot, the twins taking care of any possibility she might feel a chill. She had a blanket that she kept arranged to preserve some minimal modesty, but Daphne was ready to get up and move around.

"Can I get everyone to give me a moment while I get up and get my balance back?" Daphne said.

Harry stood by the door, closing it behind the young people. Daphne threw the blanket back and held out her arm. Harry thought she looked so beautiful he'd tear up.

"Ready?" he said, pushing up against the arm Daphne had stretched over his shoulder, his own arm around her back.

"You're incredibly beautiful," Harry said.

"No, I barely look human," Daphne said. "Your wizard ego is gloating over this sign that you broke down my defenses and occupied me. Soon I will pop out two more soldiers for the conquering Potter army you have loosed upon an oblivious world."

"That too," Harry said. "You'll feel better when I present the world to you. That's why I'm doing it. Otherwise, what's the point?"

"It has been interesting, up to now," Daphne acknowledged. She adjusted the bits she had on and pointed to what looked like a green tent hanging over a chair.

"I'll need that," she said. She accepted the tent from Harry, flipped it up and let it fall over her. When she thrust her arms through some short sleeves, Harry recognized the silk caftan Daphne had worn in the late stages of her previous pregnancies. She grabbed Harry's arm for balance and stepped into some emerald felt slippers.

"Ready," Daphne said, reaching down and taking Harry's hand. They walked out to the hall, looking for the children. James and Zelda were on the patio, talking to Plum, but Iolanthe wasn't around.

"Hullo, Plum," Harry called out. The faun waved.

"Lord Potter!" said Plum. "Just wanted to mention there is a revel scheduled for tonight, you might recall we talked about it, Winter Solstice observance, of course. There may be some…ahh…"

"Suitable for those of tender age, is it, Plum?" Harry asked, sensing Daphne peeking out over his shoulder. "Impressionable folks? If you get my meaning."

Harry couldn't see Daphne, but he felt her delighted smirk in the way she was grasping his upper arm.

"Mostly, yes," Plum allowed. "Perhaps in the woods, later in the evening…"

The faun was undoubtedly making an effort to communicate without coming right out and saying what he meant. Harry thought it delightful, and very considerate, for a faun.

"Plum, please feel free. Bonfire organized? Do you have it in a safe place? Not too big? And, if there is something that must go on in the woods, we'll leave it to the woodlanders' discretion."

James and Zelda turned around, hopefulness written all over their faces.

"No," said Harry and Daphne together.

"Besides, it's too cold to be outside the way you're dressed. How about some hot chocolate?" Daphne asked.

Hot chocolate did sound pretty good. Iolanthe came down in her own emerald caftan, hair brushed out, and feet bare. Everyone sat around the dining room table, drinking hot chocolate and catching up.

Harry caught Zelda's eye and pantomimed reading a sheet of parchment. Zelda ran out of the room and down the hall to the salon, where she had dropped her satchel when they'd arrived. Dashing back to the dining table, she handed Daphne her certificate just as a 'WHOOSH' sounded from the salon.

"Zelda!" Daphne said. "This is really something!"

"Oh?" said Tracey, who had just tracked everyone down in the dining room.

Zelda ran over and gave Tracey a hug.

"Take a look," Zelda said, and Tracey stretched out her arm for the certificate.

"Oh, Zelda!" Tracey exclaimed. "Oh, I don't think I've ever seen anything like this. This is the game last week?"

"Yup," Zelda said. Iolanthe caught her eye and gave Zelda a thumb's up.

Tracey opened up her arms and pulled Zelda in for some more hugging. That led to more hot chocolate and additional catching-up. The yawns followed close behind, and James left for bed, followed by Tracey and Zelda. Daphne still had the ability to go up the stairs, but Harry walked by her side, just in case.

Iolanthe stopped at the library and looked in. One of the elves had been in and restored order after Daphne had left to join the family. Iolanthe thought the air in the room could stand a change, so she pointed her wand at the window and opened it up. The crisp, clean December air rushed in, clearing out the smoke from the lamps. Iolanthe thought she could smell saltwater, even though the closest body of water would have been the Channel, which was miles away. Maybe the breeze was just right, she guessed.

"Thanks," said a voice from the hall. Iolanthe turned to see Harry in the doorway.

"Your mother is spending a lot of time here. I believe she is looking forward to going to Greengrass Manor and communing with her memories of you and James. I don't know if she sent you a note or not, but she has seen her last patients."

"No," said Iolanthe. "She didn't tell me. When does she want to move to Grandmother's?"

"She is still saying right after the New Year, but I don't know if she'll make it that long," Harry said, using his wand to do a little cleanup in front of the hearth. "Are we done in here?"

"Do you have a few minutes?" Iolanthe asked.

"Sure," Harry said. "She's tucked in and has a nice tumbler of water handy. What can I do for you?"

Iolanthe gave her wand tip a little jiggle and the door to the hall closed. Another flick locked the door, and another brought down the window. Iolanthe cast _muffliato_ , then she sat down.

"I need some advice," Iolanthe said.

"Last year, I did a favor for another Slytherin, who was a fifth year at the time. We aren't close, but we nod and say hello. We're on friendly terms, but not exactly friends. I nodded to her as we were walking to the castle after Zelda's game. That evening, she asked to see me, in the astronomy tower. When we got up there, she wanted to know if I was alone, or if I'd been followed. She even looked down from the landing.

"She told me she'd been warned to stay clear of all the Potters. When she asked what the other person was talking about, he just looked at her. She was clearly scared, so we agreed we'd keep our distance. She thinks it would be easy enough to get someone inside Hogwarts to report on her. I gave her a way to arrange to meet if she felt like we needed to."

"What?" Harry interrupted. "You gave her a way to arrange a meeting? Do you mind if I ask how?"

"I don't see why not," Iolanthe said. "If she needs to see me, she leaves a little note under my pillow, with the time, and a little sun or moon to tell me the place. I check under the pillow whenever I go by my room."

"Okay, did she use your system?" asked Harry.

"Yes, day before yesterday," Iolanthe said. "She told me there are people who want to make some changes at the Ministry. The minister has been there too long, he and his gang should clear out and give someone else a turn. You seem to be a particular annoyance. Thus she is to keep well clear of Potters."

Harry sat there and stared at Iolanthe. His fourteen-year-old daughter had just come home for Christmas and told him she was running an agent inside Hogwarts, with dead drops and coded communications.

"Oh, Iolanthe," Harry said.

"What?" Iolanthe asked.

Harry blew out his cheeks and forced the air out between pursed lips.

"Lots of things. You're much too young for this. Your mother would blow a gasket, in her condition. You could get in over your head. You have no training," Harry said.

"How'd I do?" Iolanthe asked.

"Remarkably well," Harry said. "For an amateur. Okay, that wasn't fair. You have been around here forever, you had to pick up a few things. Remarkably well. That's what concerns me. We have to roll this up.

"I need for you to listen to me, Iolanthe. You've stumbled onto something that is being watched. Your source for this was in that clump of old Slytherins we passed, I take it? I saw a Lestrange, a Goyle or two…"

"Right," Iolanthe said. "She's a…"

"Don't tell me, I'll ask if I need to know," Harry said, waving Iolanthe off.

"It is not thought that action is indicated right now," Harry said. "Although…"

"That could change," Iolanthe finished for Harry. "Father, be careful. She was genuinely concerned for me. I believe she has heard something. I just got the sense that she wanted to open up but was more afraid of letting it out. Does that make sense?"

"Happens all the time," Harry said. "Not just in my department. The aurors get it, daily. So do the diplomats. People really want to unload, but they fear something enough they try to hand over a puzzle piece and let the person they give it to complete the puzzle around their little hint. So, we collect a piece at a time.

"You and I will keep this to ourselves. I'll be as honest with you as I can. You are not to take any more action on this. Keep avoiding contact, if possible. If she asks to meet with you, ask her if she wants to talk to someone official. That's it. If you can let her read it on a little piece of parchment, rather than speaking, that is better for everyone, because she can just nod and you can destroy it immediately. Can you use disappearing ink? Wave the wand, let her read the message, destroy it.

"If she says yes, someone will handle setting it up. You won't be there, you won't know about it when it happens. Just send me an owl with a note, something generic. How about 'January in Scotland?'"

"How will you know who it is?" Iolanthe asked.

"You don't need to know that," Harry said.


	32. Chapter 32

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Thirty-Two

"You're Under Attack, Harry."

Harry left the master suite at Potter Manor to go down and meet Mercury who would be bringing the morning reading file any minute. Even though the file came early, Daphne was awake and Periwinkle would soon be up with her breakfast tray and the early edition of the Daily Prophet. Daphne wasn't sleeping very much, but she was sleeping a lot more than she would be in just a few weeks, so she had to make the most of the opportunity. Harry tried to gauge whether Daphne needed him at night or needed to be alone more, and accommodate her, either way.

The messenger arrived as usual with the file. Harry usually started with the top page and worked down, but this morning he scanned the top sheet, didn't see anything relevant to last night's conversation with Iolanthe, went down one, scanned, one more, scanned…

When he was satisfied there wasn't anything pertinent to his infernal mixed personal/family/ministry problem, he settled in for a disciplined attack on the material his department had so helpfully put together. Iolanthe's concern wasn't misplaced. There had been some rumblings. The old pureblood faction was down, but it was never really out. Harry was anathema to them. Half-blood! In his position! That job needed a pureblood, born and raised. Someone who could look out for the interests of the real wizards, keep the foreigners out, disappear a goblin now and then just to show them the wizards were serious.

It went back to Voldemort, or course. It always went back to Voldemort.

Harry forced himself to refocus on his reading. People had gone to a lot of trouble to ferret out the information in that file, some risked their lives, and he owed it his closest attention. The pretender to a magical throne in a vacated French duchy was plotting? Why didn't that catch his interest this morning? Of course he was plotting. Muggle or wizard, it didn't matter, pretenders plotted. Nothing else gave their lives meaning.

Voldemort! He was a half-blood orphan, just like Harry, but by some means he had found the way into the purebloods' hearts, not all of them, but enough. Harry thought about that a lot. Voldemort had gotten a significant chunk of the purebloods killed outright, suborned the crimes that put a lot more of them in jail, and cut the pureblood birthrate down to almost nil, and they loved him for it. Harry saved British wizardry, even if he did have a lot of help, and the purebloods thought he ought to be happy with a stipend and a rock someplace in the Irish Sea.

"Blast," Harry said to himself.

"Mercury, will you have coffee, or a cup of tea?" Harry asked. "This is slow going this morning."

"I don't mind, sir," Mercury replied. "Take your time. Lots of distractions this time of year."

"So, something to drink?" Harry went back to his question.

"Nothing for me, sir," Mercury said, standing, back to the fireplace.

"Suit yourself," Harry said, "But if you don't mind terribly, have a seat over there in one of those chairs."

Back in the file, Harry read on, trying to be alert for any implied taskers for him or his department, and for anything he'd ought to bring to Kingsley Shacklebolt's attention. Even on the second reading, Harry didn't spot anything that seemed connected to the larger issue behind Iolanthe's report.

Harry stared at the document in front of him as he let his mind drift just a little. There was always the possibility Iolanthe was being used in a false flag operation. She was a conduit that went straight to Harry, so the young woman could have been following instructions to open communications with Iolanthe in order to get something to him. Who? Why?

Harry turned back once more to the file. He'd found no instructions, no requests, and nothing the department needed to pass on to Kingsley.

Harry thought of the old, semi-jocular saying, "Yeah, TOO quiet."

"Slow day," Harry said, closing the file and touching it with his wand before handing it back to Mercury.

"Thank everyone for me, if you would, please, and Merry Christmas," Harry said.

"Merry Christmas to you and yours, sir," Mercury said, stepping back into the fireplace and dropping his floo powder.

Harry got back upstairs just in time to hear "HARRY POTTER!" coming through the master suite door.

"What?" he said, pushing the door open.

"This!" Daphne said, shaking what looked like the Daily Prophet.

"Okay, show it to me, but calm down a little, please?" Harry said. He might not have been a healer but he was pretty sure a prospective mother at her stage of pregnancy hadn't ought to be so angry.

The Prophet was known go for a little titillation now and then, but the page Harry was looking at went far beyond that. There were two photos under the headline. One showed Harry and Daphne at their first St. Mungo's Ball. Daphne held one of Harry's arms and looked at him adoringly while he raised his ceremonial baton in his gloved hand, high above his head. The second showed Harry at Hogwarts, following Zelda's Gryffindor-Slytherin match. Tracey had slipped one arm out of her cape and under Harry's, and both looked at Zelda with great smiles on their faces. The headline above the photos said, in a huge typeface, "THE GRANDEE."

There was a knock on the bedroom door.

"Come in," Daphne said.

The door opened a crack and Ginny Weasley looked in.

"Oh, are you and Millicent here?" Harry asked.

"No," Ginny said, opening the door fully and stepping inside. Harry saw she had a copy of the day's paper in her hand.

"Millicent is in town," Ginny said. "Let me just say, I had no idea, Daphne. If I had known I would have offered my resignation. This is completely uncalled-for."

"Don't do that, Ginny," Harry said. "This looks like a rehash of some old gossip and a couple of juicy photos. Not worth quitting over. The question is, why print it now? Who benefits?"

"Harry Potter…ugh-h-h!" Daphne said. "When I get my hands on you…Get over here so I can get my hands on you!"

"No way," Harry said. "Not until you cool down. What's the rest? Or the worst? They're implying I'm keeping Tracey on the side, and we're finally going public. Is that it? Is there any more?"

Ginny looked at Daphne.

"There are allusions to Millicent and Ginny being part of your domestic arrangements," Daphne said.

Harry thought that over.

"I guess, strictly speaking, since you and Millicent have a room here…"

"Technically, they got that part right," Ginny agreed. Daphne tried not to, but she had to laugh at Ginny's comment.

"Bathroom," she managed, catching her breath, "Now."

Harry used the time to scan the article. It was a hit piece, certainly, but it looked like it had been carefully edited, with certain assertions attributed to sources who spoke on condition of anonymity. Some paragraphs went right up to stating something as fact, but careful reading revealed they were really speculation that something _could be_ happening, without saying it actually _was_ happening.

Daphne came back to the bedroom.

"Want to get dressed?" Harry said. "Let's get Periwinkle up here, we'll get out of your way, and make sure there is fresh coffee waiting for you downstairs. This looks worse than it really is."

Daphne didn't require a lot of persuading. She'd summoned Periwinkle before the door closed behind Harry and Ginny.

Daphne elected to have her coffee and an additional toasted muffin at the dining room table. Everyone pushed Daily Prophets back and forth, reading, re-reading and analyzing, floating theories for the origin of the piece, and the reason the author, and the editors, chose to run it just before Christmas.

Harry started in again, with a new perspective. He couldn't have said where he first heard of the technique, or when he started using it, but somewhere along the line he'd learned that when everything else proved elusive, or confusing, he needed to pay attention to what was not being said. As he read with that in mind, one thing gradually emerged, or didn't emerge, conspicuous in its absence. The Blacks. Aside from one sentence describing his two titles, there was no mention of the Black family of wizards. The author even skipped exploring the irony of Lord Potter-Black heading up the 'Toujours Pur' Blacks when he himself was a half-blood. Harry didn't think that could have escaped notice. More likely it was a conscious omission.

So, they didn't want to provoke the Blacks? How did that fit the overall problem? Was it even connected, or was Harry's job turning him into a paranoid conspiracy theorist? A chill went up Harry's back. What if he was right? What if Iolanthe's situation was connected, and she was in danger of getting sucked in? Maybe the Potters should collect their close circle and go looking for that unplottable islet in the Irish Sea. The problem was they'd need one heck of an islet to accommodate something over fifty close circle members, Harry estimated.

"Anything jump out at anyone?" Harry asked. "I'm open for suggestions."

"I'd like to suggest a cheerier atmosphere for breakfast," Tracey said, announcing her arrival in a most Tracey-like way.

Daphne waited until Tracey had taken her seat before passing the Daily Prophet to her.

"What…?" Tracey began.

"Just read," Daphne said.

Little profanities announced Tracey had read to this or that bit of sleaze. When she'd worked her way through the complete article, she slapped the paper down on the table.

"We don't bother anyone!" Tracey said, her voice a little loud for the surroundings. "Why would anyone do this? Is it to sell newspapers? It doesn't even say anything, if it's read carefully. Did you see that?"

Tracey looked at Daphne.

"Yes, I did," Daphne said. "That's why we aren't clawing each other's faces at the moment. Our newswoman can speak to sales numbers, but I suspect something a bit more political."

"Me too," Harry said, as he leaned back and collected his thoughts. "In no particular order, someone has a beef with me, someone wants my job, someone wants to use people around Kingsley to force him out, or at least damage him, meaning this is just the first in a series, or there is a formal or informal party that has coalesced and wants to mount a coup. There is always a possibility it is just maliciousness, vandalism on a large scale, but it doesn't feel like that, to me."

Ginny brought up resignation again, but Harry tried to persuade her to drop the idea, or at least save it as a last resort.

"It looks like we are all targets, at least potentially," Harry argued. "None of us has your access to the inner workings of the Daily Prophet. If you could bring yourself to stay a little longer, you might hear something important, you could keep us from being surprised."

Harry thought Ginny hadn't kept them from being surprised this morning, but he didn't say it.

"I think I'd better get to my desk and see what is blowing up down there," Harry said, standing and pushing his chair back.

"Harry, it will be Christmas in two days, you aren't going down there and staying, are you?" Daphne asked, almost pleading.

"Of course not," Harry said. "Just a little stop-by, ear to the ground, consult the College of Augurs, check the wind."

He stuck his forefinger in his mouth, then pointed it at the ceiling.

"Gross," someone said, getting two responses: "Gross" and "Very gross."

Harry used the floo to get to the ministry, then strolled outside and around the corner. He stopped in the coffee shop for a paper cup of their excellent house blend. The coffee shop used a variation on the system Harry had first seen in use at the St. Mungo's cafeteria. He took out his wand and touched a little machine that looked like a muggle calculator, little roll of paper and all. The machine made some very satisfying whirring noises and did something with his tab, although it didn't print out a receipt. Gringotts handled payment once a month, just like they did for his Magic Club bills, outfitting the Black scholars, and any number of other recurring expenses.

Harry stepped out of the coffee shop, looked up and down the street, and strolled the few yards to the inset door. He looked away, reached out for the handle, and let himself in. Jubal was behind his long desk, keeping an eye on the comings and goings.

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Potter," Jubal said in greeting.

"Merry Christmas, Jubal," said Harry in return, "Any Christmas geese in your immediate future?"

"Sadly, no, sir," Jubal said. "Mrs. Jubal had a little flock of geese when she was a girl in the countryside, and is constitutionally opposed to treating them as food. I suspect she was raised by the geese, more or less, the late mother-in-law having been somewhat more occupied with her potion-making than her family, at least by the time I got to know them."

"Oh," Harry said, "I had a potion-maker ancestor, way, way back in the past. Maybe I should re-orient the family to potion-making. Much less aggravation, I'd guess."

"It certainly worked out for Mrs. Jubal, sir, eventually," Jubal said, waving Harry on into the building.

Harry wondered about the talking gate at Greengrass Manor, which had the same ability to engage him in pointless, yet interminable conversations. Could Jubal be an automaton? A skilled magical metalworker might be able to fabricate a Jubal, perhaps some goblin craftsmanship followed by a highly skilled enchanter or enchantress taking on the finished construction and supplying the fragmented self-knowledge and ability to respond to greetings.

'Stop. Stop. Stop.'

Harry ordered himself to put Jubal and talking gates out of his mind and focus on the problem at hand. He got to his office and answered a round of 'Morning, sir!' greetings from people at desks, people out in the hallway, and people standing around. Harry walked on into his private office and put his coffee cup on a little coaster on his desk. He looked at the coaster for a fraction of second before the cup obscured the logo.

"St. Mungo's Hospital Cafeteria," it said. Harry sent a little mental message to Daphne informing her he loved her. Anything that said St. Mungo's triggered the reflex. Harry didn't know why, nor did he care.

Looking up, Harry was surprised to see his entire outer office, and the people from the corridor, standing in a semi-circle around his desk.

"And…hello again," Harry said.

"Sir," said a senior aide, taking charge. "We want you to know we were appalled by what we read in the Daily Prophet this morning. That was beyond the bounds of decency, to not only attack you, but to include your family. If there is anything you want us to do…"

"Oh, I think I can manage for now," Harry said, a little grin showing at the corners of his mouth. "Let's not give any hypothetical discontents cause to think I'm abusing my position, shall we? At present, the reasoning that led to this article could be interpreted in different ways. The minister may have a view on this. Let's allow this to sit for a bit. As long as we're all here, I'll take the opportunity to say thank-you, and I appreciate what all of you coming in here says about how you think of me as a department head. It's highly complimentary, and I appreciate it."

Harry was clearly done with the morning niceties, and the staff started turning for the door, mutterings of 'Thank-you sir' continuing as his office emptied.

Harry set about getting his office operational. He opened his safe and removed one file. Then he re-locked the safe, taking a moment to check the box on the security log by tapping it with the tip of his wand. The file held all the unfinished work in progress from the day before. Harry tried but he really couldn't concentrate on yesterday's leftovers. He went through the file looking for any issue that might have a connection, however slight, but didn't see anything.

Thoroughly frustrated, Harry decided to reach out and stop trying to solve the riddle himself. Harry opened the safe and put his working file away, re-locked the safe, and left his office. He had an assistant who sat right outside his door, whom he told he would be with the head analyst for a few minutes.

The man's office was directly below Harry's, so a quick trip down one flight of stairs later, Harry was knocking on his door.

"May I?" Harry asked.

"Certainly," said the analyst, who went by Pythagoras.

"The Daily Prophet article—have you read it?" Harry asked.

"I have," said Pythagoras. "Nasty piece of character assassination, sir."

"Classic," Harry said. "Textbook. I could almost admire it, for the craftsmanship. The author very carefully avoided saying anything I'd be forced to settle with a challenge, or that I can complain about in the Wizengamot. The reader is left with the impression that I have no time for work because I'm fully occupied with hobbies of a private nature, and yet there is nothing said directly. Everyone who knows me knows how the circle came about. I'm on good terms with everyones' families.

"So, the question is, why now? Newspaper sales? The fun of salacious gossip? Or a connection to something else, something more serious? Who benefits? Are they foreign or domestic?"

Pythagoras paused before speaking and rubbed his hands back over his face.

"All good questions, sir. The analysts are tackling them now. At the moment we don't know. The byline is a free-lancer the Daily Prophet has published before, but there is some question about whether he is the actual author of this piece. Style differences, vocabulary choices, that sort of thing."

"Then there is the larger picture," Harry said. Pythagoras looked grim.

"If there is a connection," Pythagoras began, "You may be the unlucky domino fated to fall first. They wouldn't have to force you out. Perhaps you are meant to take this as a signal to put all the aggravations of public service aside and enjoy a wonderful retirement."

"I don't think a lot of that idea," Harry said, a little redness creeping upward from his collar.

"And most likely, no one expected you would," said Pythagoras. "You may want to have a conversation with my brother in faith over at departmental security."

"I may," Harry said. "I may at that."

"Well," Harry said, getting up. "Thank you for this. I can stop analyzing now and get to work."

Harry was back upstairs at his desk not long afterwards when his assistant brought in a little cream envelope. Harry thought 'Invitation' and he was right. It was from Blaise.

Inside the monogrammed card was written:

"Lunch? Noon, Morgan's."

A few minutes before twelve Harry walked to a discreet apparation point maintained for him and a few other high-ranking officials of the department. From there he went to the balcony on the building that housed the Magic Club. He still didn't know how that worked, despite Fabio giving him a long seminar on magical architecture. Harry stepped in off the balcony and looked out at London from above. It was such a magical place, if one had the perceptions and fine tuning to discern what one was looking at.

Layers and layers of muggle work, wizardry, goblin businesses and goblin craftsmen, all side by side and fitted together, generally working fairly harmoniously, although the tribes, clans, families and individuals didn't always see it that way. In the case of the muggles, they couldn't be said to see very much at all, even though they might be staring right at it.

Harry thought of a paper he had read once, by a scholarly couple, witch and wizard, who had theorized that at one time, magical ability was randomly distributed across early humans, and witches and wizards were accepted and valued in their bands, the same as skilled hunters, fishermen, scouts, toolmakers and elders would have been. Somehow, the cooperative distribution of tasks ruptured, and the minority who could use magic became an 'other' and over the centuries a gradual distancing took place.

In Rome, there was a College of Augurs. That had to have had magical roots. By the 1500's though, witches and wizards were driven to cultivate means to remain hidden from the majority society. Harry thought the hypothesis sound. One could start with magical types limiting contact with muggles for self-preservation, with that leading gradually to concentration of magical ability in the minority population. Harry couldn't remember what the conclusion of the paper was. The authors probably threw up their hands and said the academic equivalent of 'What are you gonna do?'

"Oh, I thought I heard someone come in over here," said a familiar voice, and Harry turned to see Madame Ba approaching.

"It is our Lord Harry, joining us for lunch," she said. "And Lady Daphne will be with us again soon, may we hope?"

"I wouldn't look for her before March or April," Harry said. "She's not due until February, and if history is any kind of a guide, she'll curl up with the newcomers for a month or six weeks and exude love in waves."

"Oh, Mr. Potter, that is poetry," Madame Ba enthused.

"Ah, thank-you," Harry said. "I've been well-trained."

"Mr. Zabini has everything ready in the conference room, Mr. Potter," Madame Ba said. "You know the way, and I should get back to my station."

"Of course, and thank-you for asking about Daphne," Harry returned, before climbing the steps to the lounge.

Blaise did have everything ready, just as Madame Ba had said. The round conference table was set, pitchers of water and iced tea stood on a side table, and some senior ministry officials were already gathered together.

Ralph Mann, still the Head Auror, Hermione Granger-Weasley and Ron Weasley, Percy Weasley, and Blaise were all waiting for him.

"Everyone?" Percy said, assuming that, as senior ministry official present, it was his job to call the group to order. No matter. They all knew Percy.

Harry noticed everyone had a copy of that day's Daily Prophet next to his plate. Excellent. Maybe one of them had some insight as to why his family had gotten a jab to the bridge of the nose just in time for Christmas.

"Water, Harry?" Blaise asked. "Something stronger? Iced tea?"

"Iced tea, please," Harry said, unrolling the napkin that held his silverware and spreading it over his lap. Harry yielded to another compulsion and arranged the silverware properly, knife and spoon on the right, fork on the left. Then he shifted his plate just a little to get the symmetry he preferred, breaking off when the basket of bread came around. The round roll looked like pumpernickel, so Harry took it.

A cart with a big bowl of salad and a stack of bowls arrived. Blaise stood nearby and took the salad bowls to the table for the guests. As soon as everyone had his salad, the wait staffer left. Harry realized with a start that he could not have said if the person was male or female. That wasn't good. He was getting preoccupied with a personal problem and neglecting to observe what was going on around him. Hmm. He resolved to monitor that closely. That unplottable islet and a life of quiet potion-making might be closer than he thought.

A server re-entered. This one was definitely female.

After a few very gracious opening remarks, the waitress went through the list of lunch items.

"Sliced steamship roast beef on a Kaiser roll with onion and horseradish optional, toasted bagel with lettuce, tomato, avocado and Swiss cheese, chicken noodle soup with house made biscuits, and lentil-filled crepes."

The table took the roast beef sandwiches with everything, except for Hermione, who asked for the soup.

"I heard they confirmed Zelda's record," Ron said.

"Uh-huh," Harry and Blaise said together.

"What for?" Hermione asked.

"Most consecutive saves in a single game," Harry said. He paused a beat, for effect, before observing, "Against Slytherin, last Saturday."

"She's in Gryffindor, right?" Percy asked.

"Right," Harry said. "Ironically, Blaise gave her her first broom, didn't you, Blaise?"

"All right," Blaise said, "Go ahead and get it out. She should be in Slytherin, okay? But what she told me was she put on the hat saying, 'Slytherin, Slytherin, Slytherin' and the hat said it saw she wanted to play quidditch, and Slytherin would be tough but there was a chance she could play for Gryffindor as a first year, so she changed her house preference on the spot. No conversation with Tracey, none with me. I thought we had rules."

"I don't know, Blaise," Hermione said. "Rose says she's really making an effort in her classes because Neville won't let her play if she prioritizes quidditch. All the signs are you are getting an actual scholar athlete."

"Rare, those," Ron observed, as Harry nodded agreement.

"In any case, she seems to be very happy with her house, although I suppose Iolanthe is having a hard time, the unfairness of it all, and so on," Hermione concluded.

Harry nodded.

"She won't come right out and say it, but there are inklings," he said.

When the food arrived, the conversation subsided. Ralph Mann was holding his sandwich in one hand and the Daily Prophet in the other, ignoring the others while he read about Harry, the Grandee.

"Shall we?" Percy asked, interrupting the quiet one-on-one conversations, and Ralph's semi-private working lunch.

Everyone looked at Percy.

"Ideas, Harry?" Percy said.

"None," Harry replied. "I didn't see it coming, Daphne didn't, even Ginny didn't hear anything in advance, and she works there. It just appeared today. The reporter isn't a big name there, either. It's weird, for a number of reasons. If it is connected to something else, it's not obvious."

"Hermione?" Percy asked.

"There have been unsettling indications that Dark Magic is making a little comeback. Evidence of things that are known to be residue of some nasty work. We've been looking into it but if it's strictly thrill-seeking individuals, that's that. On the other hand, if there is a larger pattern?"

Hermione let the question hang there.

"Political talk is a constant," Percy said. "There is a lot going around. The current senior ministry positions have long term incumbents, yours truly not excepted. If enough witches and wizards want change, they'll get it."

"Sure," Blaise said. "There are means to do that, within the boundaries of established practice. The question is whether that is what the people who are pushing this plan to do. Will they respect the boundaries?"

"I'd be interested in everyone's perspective on my part in this," Harry said. "Unless the Daily Prophet just thought a story about our family's personal affairs would boost circulation, there are larger pieces in motion."

"Harry, have you thought maybe someone over there just found you and your family compelling copy?" Ralph Mann asked. "It's the Daily Prophet."

"Yes," Harry said. "That would make the most sense, as an isolated phenomenon. This might be an isolated phenomenon. With the other things that have come to our attention, I'd be skeptical."

"I'm with Harry," Hermione said. "Skeptical. That's as far as I can go. Ronald?"

"As Percy said, there is always talk," Ron said. "The office checks out anything that sounds like a threat to the Wizengamot. Disputes between members have been known to get heated, sometimes we have to look into those. There hasn't been anything of that nature recently. I can't make a connection between Harry's article and anything we're investigating."

"I'll assume, then, the consensus is the Daily Prophet story isn't a piece of a larger situation any of us are watching?" Harry asked.

"As of today," Percy added.

"Yes."

Went around the table. The door opened and the waitress looked in. Blaise nodded.

"There will be coffee and tea coming," Blaise said. "Dessert is a very light lemon gelato."

Business over, the conversations drifted a bit. Christmas plans for everyone were hurtling forward. Runaway trains were used in metaphors. Blaise tried to explain his and Tracey's plans, with the multiple parties where Zelda needed to make an appearance. Harry did his best to stay with Blaise, but gave up. He listened carefully for clues to what Blaise was doing for a social life, and concluded he wasn't doing anything. Harry wondered again why Blaise and Tracey, who didn't seem interested in anyone else besides Zelda, didn't de-complicate their lives and at minimum cohabitate, if they didn't want to get married, but that was none of his business, any more than his home life was the Daily Prophet's.

Lunch broke up when the coffee was finished. The ministry people left via the fireplace while Harry and Blaise stood talking and looking out at London in a quiet corner of the lounge.

"Have time to tell me about being a grandee?" Blaise asked. He really did look eager to hear all about it.

"Daphne had to explain it to me," Harry said. "It's very much out of fashion today, but old-time wizards could take multiple wives and concubines. I guess they were expected to have the economic means to support them. It was a style thing. Someone has resurrected the concept. Quite honestly, I try not to think about it, because it makes me want to flatten their nose."

"Harry, you stand out in the wizarding crowd," Blaise said. "If you didn't, no one would take notice. Your extended family is intensely loyal to you. I hope you know it. That includes me."

Blaise let the last sentence come out softly, but his gaze was steady as he extended his hand.

"Be careful, Harry," said Blaise. "Something about these bits and pieces, and how they're moving around, makes me think they all want to get lined up and fit together. I hope I'm wrong."

"Thanks, Blaise," Harry said. "It feels like one of those where all we can do is wait and see. Not like we haven't been here before."

Harry had been checking details and trying to penetrate shadows, using plate glass to look for tails and doubling back to where he wanted to be after intentionally overshooting his mark for so long those things had achieved status something like his way of life. The meeting was nice, informative, and involved seeing Ron and Hermione. Even so, Harry had taken one extra step and invited Kingsley Shacklebolt for coffee.

The little café next to Harry's building was a favorite of Kingsley's, so it made a natural spot for them to accidentally run into one another for a short, public encounter. They typically didn't discuss 'business' in the strictest sense, but they knew one another so well they could exchange information in a way that protected it from overeager ears.

Kingsley was standing at a counter fixed to the wall when Harry arrived. There were two cups in front of him, so Harry went straight over.

"Here's okay with me," Harry said, "Unless you want to go up."

"How's Jubal?" Kingsley asked.

"Something of a riddle, but well," Harry replied. "I had lunch with some friends at Madame Ba's place."

"Did you?" Kingsley asked. "I thought you might be doing that. Decent specials today?"

"Roast beef on a Kaiser roll," said Harry.

"Mmm," Kingsley said, "So her ladyship is at the manor, I take it."

"Well thought-out," Harry said. "We talked newspapering. And analysis."

"Brutal story, and just before Christmas," Kingsley observed.

"The why is escaping me," Harry said. "If there is a message in there, it's very obscure. The consensus at lunch was the same."

Kingsley stared out at the street.

"I suppose you need to get back," Kingsley said. It had that definitive Kingsley tone, so Harry didn't contradict him. Kingsley snapped the cover onto his paper cup. Harry did the same. Kingsley had to go left to return to the ministry, and Harry right. Two large aurors wearing raincoats stood up from a table when they moved. Kingsley stopped before getting to the door to let one of the aurors go first. He fidgeted with the coffee cup for a few seconds before proceeding, time he used for a final comment.

"You're under attack, Harry. This is a feint, to see how you'll react. We may be in for a full twelve rounds. We'll get together and catch up, soon."

Kingsley stepped out onto the street and walked away with the two aurors.


	33. Chapter 33

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Thirty-Three

Harry Makes Preparations

Harry went to his office and spent enough time to check the latest reporting from the field, looking for anything that gave the appearance of having a connection with the Daily Prophet piece on him and the Potter family, Iolanthe's report of the strange interactions she'd had with one of the upper class Slytherin witches, and the indications that something vague was stirring in obscure corners and mist-filled valleys.

Harry took a moment at his desk to stare straight ahead, let his eyes go out of focus, breathe deeply and remind himself that many senior people had driven themselves insane in the upper reaches of all the world's intelligence services. It was an occupational hazard. Too much time in an environment where anything that looks normal must be assumed to be a concoction of a hostile entity meant to deceive, to lull, to sow discontent among allies, was bound to take a toll on the healthiest mind. Harry resolved to look without preconceptions, read carefully, and trust his instincts above all.

Harry had a deputy, a witch around his age, whether a few years younger or older, Harry couldn't say. She had been a Ravenclaw at Hogwarts, and she'd come up in the analyst ranks. Her name was Fiona. Harry poked his head out into the outer office and told his assistant he'd be leaving the office soon, but asked if the assistant would track Fiona down and invite her to join him for a short meeting.

"Sir?" Fiona stood in the doorway, waiting to be invited in.

"Ah, come in, have a seat," Harry said. He came out from behind his desk and closed the door.

"You've seen the article about me and practically everyone I know in the Daily Prophet?" Harry inquired.

Fiona nodded. "Rotten thing to do just before Christmas."

"Thanks," Harry said. "I had a little informal working lunch with some people today, and the consensus is no one knows what to make of it. On the other hand, another department is watching something, kind of like we are, but their concern is some indications there is more than the usual dabbling in some Dark Arts going on. Strictly individual cases, so far, but still…"

"I am going to make an effort to carry on, looking normal, acting normal, going about my normal business, because I think this may be nothing more than a provocation. Meanwhile, we need to go back and see if there have been reports over the last year that need a second look, in light of all those things I mentioned. There may be connections we overlooked at the time."

"Yes, sir," Fiona said. "I'll get right on it. Did you talk to Pythagoras?"

"Yes, it won't be a surprise."

"Very well," Fiona said. "Please be careful, when you're out and about.

"I will," Harry said, "Thanks for the thought."

Harry took one of a number of routes he used to go from the office back to #12 Grimmauld Place. Kreacher had the door half open when Harry apparated onto the top step. After quick glances right and left, Harry slipped inside and Kreacher closed the door.

Harry used the fireplace in the salon for a floo call to Potter Manor, telling Iolanthe, who answered on the other end, that he needed a little gym time and would be back in a few hours. Harry changed and loosened up. He thought about what he would be doing for the next few hours, the challenges ahead of him, the unknown that would not reveal itself until doing so gave it the advantage. He also thought about all the people for whom he had accepted responsibility, and how they depended on his skills and practice to keep them safe and their world in balance.

Harry finished his preliminary routine and began his workout. He did pushups, squat-thrusts, knee bends using only one leg with the other extended straight in front. He put his fists to the floor and pushed himself into the 'up' position, holding until he thought his knuckles would catch fire.

Harry switched to forms, watching himself in the big mirror, working his way through tai chi and tae kwon do, then drew his wand and asked for some dueling partners. The mannequins made a very sweaty time of it, unveiling some complex and unethical combined attacks, before everyone acknowledged the draw.

After his cool-down, Harry pulled out a thick black cushion from beneath a bench and placed it on the floor before a very large sheet of rice paper, upon which there was a great, incomplete circle, an 'O' in black ink brush calligraphy. Harry walked around the cushion and stopped facing the wall. He sat down on the cushion, rocked left, then right, then left, five times in all, cutting down the sway each time until his bottom had his weight distributed evenly. Harry lay one hand inside the other, and put his thumb tips together, just touching.

Harry's thoughts from earlier were reduced to one word: _responsibility_. That was it. He had cut everything else away with his punches, kicks and the slashing of his wand. He had no goal for how long he would sit, because long practice taught him he would know when it was time to get up.

Harry sat. Then he got up. He focused on his responsibility. He didn't know what that would require, until he did.

Hanging his office things in the closet, Harry took a quick shower in cold water and dried off. He chose some black trousers, a dark green silk shirt, a black tie and a full-length black traveling cloak. He got a black beret down from the shelf above the clothes bar, and pulled it on. He wore boots made of soft leather, with an opening that he closed with his wand. The boots were soled in a natural rubber that gave Harry some feel for variations in walking surfaces.

Harry went downstairs. He called out to Kreacher that he was leaving for Potter Manor, and went out to the top step. When he arrived at the woodlanders' green with a 'POP,' Harry stood still and listened. It was full dark and he would have been invisible, unless an onlooker were close enough and had just the right angle to see the faint glow of his face or his silhouette against the starlit sky.

Harry used his downsized _legilimens_ technique to feel for unknown personalities that might be lurking about, inside or outside. Some of Plum's community were over in the woods, but everyone inside the house felt familiar, and the bits of language he did pick up were benign. When Harry was satisfied there was no more to learn out on the green he threw the tail of his cape back so he wouldn't trip and walked toward the patio doors.

"Hullo!" he called out. He'd paused to cast a little cleaning charm on his shoes, but he looked down anyway to make sure he wasn't tracking anything in. James came out to evaluate the commotion.

"Oh," James said, then stood there waiting for Harry to pick up the conversation.

"James," said Harry, "What's going on? How's your mother?"

"Nothing," James summarized. "Mum's in the little library, on her couch."

"Have you read the Daily Prophet?" Harry asked. "I left before you got downstairs this morning. If there's anything you want to ask…"

"Yes," James said, his face stuck in neutral.

"And?" Harry said. "What was your reaction.?"

"I'm pissed at whoever did this to our family," James said, leaving it there.

"Any questions you want to ask me?" Harry asked. "Ask away."

It occurred to Harry that James was much too young to take the lead on such a sensitive conversation, so he took over.

"The article implied, without saying it, that I've got money, a mysterious public job, multiple houses and several socially-prominent witches I keep in addition to your mother. The author intended the readers, including you and our close relatives and friends, to understand that I'm involved in some serious self-indulgence. The photos they chose are interesting. The one on the left shows me with my glam wife making some kind of triumphal gesture. I thought of one of those dictators from the nineteen-thirties who was always putting on a show from the balcony. The other one, on the right, shows me with Tracey, right when we were congratulating Zelda for the win last week. I'm sure Tracey didn't think about it beforehand, but she took my arm for a moment. That one shows us out in public, and implies I'm running around flaunting my girlfriend while my glam wife is confined at home in the late stages of pregnancy.

"It's a good piece of propaganda, if you like that. There are a few facts I can't dispute, and a lot of implications the author doesn't come right out and say. Very crafty. Tidy.

"So, James, if you do have questions, don't keep them to yourself. I'll be happy to talk to you about almost anything."

"Oh, well, when were you going to tell me about your job?" James asked.

Harry unfastened his cloak and pulled it off. He looked around for an elf but ended up carrying it.

"Come on," he said, gesturing toward the door. James fell in beside him.

"Go on in the office," Harry said. "I'll be along as soon as I report."

Daphne was back on her couch, barely covered by her blanket. There was a fire in the fireplace, mainly glowing coals, indicating she hadn't any interest in keeping the December chill out. Iolanthe sat in a side chair near a lamp, Astoria's leather-bound Fitzgerald open on her lap. Trix and Periwinkle were both in the room. It appeared Iolanthe had been reading _The Odyssey_ for everyone.

"Well!" Harry said, giving the room a good scan.

"And we could all say the same," Daphne observed. "Good day at the office?"

"Not particularly," answered Harry. "Everything okay in here? Because James and I were just starting an interesting conversation that I really should finish, then I'll be right back."

"Oddly enough, husband, we've managed without you all day," Daphne said, "And lived to tell the tale. We can probably survive the length of a conversation between you and James. He's barely twelve, remember, so don't be overly generous with the cigars and mead."

Iolanthe looked everywhere but directly at either one of them.

"Be right back, then," Harry said, tossing the cloak over a side chair.

James was sitting in the swivel chair behind the desk, drawing rectangles of various sizes on a piece of parchment.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"Grandfather gave me some ideas about garden beds," James said. "How the proportions can be important. These are experiments."

"So," Harry said, flopping on the leather settee, "What have you heard about my job?"

James started out a little jerkily, speaking in sentence fragments, but he warmed to the topic soon enough.

"People say you're a spy. You can't be trusted. I'll take everything I hear back to you, so be careful. You do the ministry's dirty work…"

"Oh, that's easy," Harry said. "Collecting intelligence is a function of government. Knowing what is coming keeps one from getting surprised, and can save lives. The minister can't rely on the Daily Prophet for some kinds of information, so a department exists to get that for him. We can get into the details, sometime, of how it works, but that's beyond our scope now.

"I'm the head of a department," Harry went on. "I've been a fairly public figure my whole life, so it's not a big deal to semi-acknowledge me, and it gives the gossips a subject for discussion, which is really speculation, and keeps the attention off the people who are doing the real work. Neat, eh?"

"Neat," James acknowledged.

"Note I said semi-acknowledge," Harry continued. "It is never officially acknowledged. I would appreciate your support on that. You can say I have a job in London, and I go to an office, and you're not sure exactly what I do. Try to make me dull and boring."

James thought that was funny.

"Are we really that rich?" James asked, changing directions without signaling.

"We're comfortable," Harry admitted, not seeing any advantage in bandying numbers about. "We'll talk about that at length when you're a little older. Can I give you some advice? Don't get into conversations about money, or things, or land, with people who have no reason to know your private business. That kind of thing can break up friendships. You don't want that."

"Are you and Tracey…?" James half-formed a question.

"No," Harry said. "Tracey and your mother have a deal not to do that. It goes back a long way. Their lives were intertwined long before any of us were in the picture, and they respect each other too much."

"Did you get the materials for the greenhouse?" James asked in another hairpin conversational turn.

"Should be right along," Harry said. "I passed your list to Fabio. Your grandfather and his garden elves know everyone in the field. If they aren't here by noon tomorrow, take the floo over and chat him up. It gets you out of here and he loves visits from fellow gardeners."

"Are you going out to do some spying?" James said, eying Harry's subdued colors.

"I might make a couple of stops, to let myself be spied-upon," Harry said, "Although that is very close-hold and not to be discussed outside this room. Done?"

"Done," James said. "Thanks, Dad."

"Anytime. Seriously," Harry said. "James?"

"Dad?"

"I want you to know, I didn't ask for any of this," Harry said. "All the fighting. Being a lightning rod for every discontented wizard with twisted views. But when your mother and I got Iolanthe, and you, and now the babies, I accepted the responsibility to keep you safe and give you a chance to grow up and pursue your dreams, whatever they turn out to be. I'd be happy to live with your mother at the Mill and watch my family grow up, and when the time comes, go back to Godric's Hollow and rest next to my parents. Not everyone wants us to live that way, though, so when I see a threat coming towards any of you, I do what I can to get to it first. Do you understand?"

"I think so, Dad," James said. "Dad, are you a great man?"

He said it like it was capitalized—Great Man.

"Great Man, eh?" Harry said, bemused. "I've known a few great men. They are exceedingly rare. I don't think any of them thought they were great. I think they believed they were ordinary, flawed men, playing the cards they were dealt, as skillfully as they could, trying to overcome long odds. Tell you what. You hold that thought for thirty or forty years, and you make your own decision."

James and Harry crossed the hall to the little library. Harry knocked on the door.

"Decent?" he called out.

"Yes, of course," Daphne said.

Harry opened the door and entered, followed by James.

"My great whale's belly covers all, I couldn't be indecent if I wanted to be," Daphne said.

"I think you're beautiful," Harry said, earning a 'Eeeew' from Iolanthe.

"Has everyone eaten?" Harry asked. "Do we need food? Pumpkin juice? The elves went somewhere, meaning they can be summoned."

"There is supposed to be something ready whenever we get to the dining room," Iolanthe said. "Mother, do you want to join us?"

"I need to walk," Daphne said. "My legs will cramp up otherwise. Your father will get me back to vertical, you two go ahead. Wash up."

Iolanthe and James left, closing the door behind them. Daphne threw back the blanket, revealing herself to be minimally clothed, yet covered in a thin sheen of sweat despite the chilly room. Harry knelt next to her couch and waited for Daphne to put her arm over his shoulders. Slipping his own arm around her back, Harry stood up, bringing Daphne with him, until they both stood at their full heights. Harry kept his arm around Daphne's waist until he was sure she had her balance. Daphne put her fingers on his chest and gently pushed Harry away.

"I've got it," she said. "Step back a bit."

Harry did as he was told, looking around for one of the caftans. It occurred to him that Daphne's caftans got a lot of work at this stage of her pregnancies.

"I know what you plan to do, Harry Potter," Daphne said. "I'm not in any shape to come with you, nor try and stop you. So look at me. Look at all of us, Harry. If you throw yourself away on something foolish, all of this will be here, in your home. Exposed. Vulnerable. Now, the caftan is right there."

Harry looked where Daphne was pointing and grabbed the silk caftan, holding it open so Daphne could put her arms through.

"Slippers?" Harry asked, looking around.

"No," Daphne said. "The cold floors feel too good under my bare feet."

"Are you sure that is normal?" Harry asked, reaching out to grasp the library doorknob.

"Twins, eighth month? Yes," Daphne said. "The little folks generate some heat."

Later, Harry would remember their dinner was delicious, but the only thing he could recall eating was the boiled potatoes. The mind, he'd think. So mysterious when it's stressed.

Harry got Daphne upstairs to their bedroom. She was no longer getting in and out of the tub, but she could sit on a stool under the shower while Harry managed the sponge. When she was dry and all tucked in, Harry sat down on the edge of their bed.

"Someone is up to something," Harry said. "We don't have anything solid, other than the article from this morning. It's not even clear if they are calling me out personally, or if they want to damage us because we are Kingsley supporters, or if they just want to sow discontent.

"Someone is watching, though. It's my responsibility to keep them away from you and the family. I'll just go out and talk to one or two people, just to let it be known there will be no hiding. I'll be very careful, I promise."

Daphne looked at Harry. The amber fire was definitely trying to break through the blue, so Harry leaned over to plant a kiss on her cheek before striding back to the door.

Responsibility. Harry held the word in his mind and excluded everything else. He had done all of this. Harry had no doubts the responsibility was his, because he had roped in Daphne and done everything that came after, putting the care and protection of her and their family directly on his shoulders. The picture of Daphne standing there, huge with his twins, kept popping into his mind.

"WHOOSH!'

Harry stepped out of the fireplace in the Three Broomsticks.

Madame Rosmerta didn't recognize him until he pushed back the hood of his black cloak and slid the beret off his head.

"Harry Potter," said Rosmerta. "Coming to see Minerva? She's about the only one left over at the school."

"No, just some foolishness wanting looking-into, thought I'd stop for a butterbeer on my way past," Harry said. "Beautiful night out there tonight. We don't have snow down our way yet, Christmas or no Christmas."

Harry looked around the room. There were some faces he recognized. He didn't think he could say how he recognized them, or when he had first seen the owners. He couldn't help wondering if they'd been sitting there on his first visit to the Three Broomsticks as a Hogwarts student.

Responsibility. Push everything else out and focus on responsibility, and everything would be fine. Even so, Iolanthe and her budding network, Hermione's dabblers in the Dark, and the little tremors of political unrest kept trying to elbow their way into his thoughts.

Harry finished his butter beer. He'd paid once but he added a few sickels to help Rosmerta with the overhead and went outside. Harry took his time. Aberforth was just as likely to be closed as open, so there wasn't a rush. Turned out he was open. 'What kind of business can he be doing tonight?' Harry thought to himself.

The hinges squeeked louder than ever when Harry pushed the door open. He walked up to the bar, throwing back his hood and pulling the beret off his head.

"Harry Potter, good to see you," Aberforth said, reaching across the bar to shake hands. "How have you been?"

"Fine, thank-you," Harry said. "The family's fine, the twins should get here in February, Daphne's doing great. What has been going on?"

"Not very much," Aberforth began. "The excitement of Christmas fades in Hogsmeade when the students go on break. One day there are people on the street, and the next you're lucky to see one of the centenarian witches out exercising her cane."

Aberforth had a way with words. He was one of the few people who, just by being themselves, could make Harry laugh uncontrollably. The centenarian Aberforth's disparaging comment about the centenarian witch was an example. Who else would phrase it that way?

"Now, you aren't in my pub because you got homesick for Hogsmeade, something tells me. Not when you ought to be home with the family. Did you have it in mind to bring me in on it?" Aberforth asked.

"Did you see the Daily Prophet this morning?" asked Harry.

Aberforth clearly had, and wished Harry hadn't brought it up.

"I did," said Aberforth.

"I talked it over with some people," Harry said. "Kingsley was among them. He is of the opinion it wasn't idle gossip collected into an article to boost sales. He thinks it is directed at me as a kind of warning shot. A warning for what purpose remains, um, obscure. If there is anything you know, or have heard of, that could tie that piece in the paper to a larger project someone is running, I'll listen respectfully to all points of view."

Aberforth stepped over to the door and slid the bolt home.

"People talk," Aberforth began. "Most of the time it's pretty bland. Muggles, foreigners and the ministry. One of those bothers almost any customer who walks through that door. They come here for a pint and someone to listen. About a year ago, I started to hear something different. Kingsley Shacklebolt and his gang. It's a spider's web and Kingsley is at the center. Everyone close to Kingsley is getting rich. They should get out and give someone else a chance, but as soon as anyone not in the gang tries, the aurors come for them. You and your department take out people without bothering the aurors, if the occasion calls for it.

"I throw them out if it gets too inflammatory, but that's not a cure-all. That's all I know."

"As usual, it's a couple of hundred percent more than I knew when I came in," Harry said, extending a hand. "Is that still connected to the floos?"

"Sure, a customer used it just a few hours ago," Aberforth said, polishing a mug with what actually looked like a clean towel. "Before you go, were you here?"

"I was," Harry said. "Just passing through and stopped for refreshment and a friendly face. Don't forget to unbolt the door, you could lose a customer."

Harry took the floo to the Leaky Cauldron, looking around the main room before he pushed his hood back and pulled off the black beret.

"Harry," Hannah Abbott called out as she walked past, multiple mugs in each hand.

"Butterbeer, please," Harry said. No one occupied the small booth by the fireplace, so Harry sat down. The back of the booth always had some interesting observations carved into the wood. Some had actually been carved with a knife, others burned in by wand. Both schools had skilled practitioners represented. One or two were very witty and done by talented carvers. Too bad they couldn't all rise to that level, Harry thought. Inside an elaborate heart with an ivy filigree frame: 'Jacques Lafleur est un vampire.' Harry thought about coming back with some tissue paper and a piece of brass and making a rubbing.

"What is going on?" Hannah asked when she got back with Harry's drink.

"Jacques Lafleur it seems, is a vampire," Harry said. "I don't see Neville."

"Gosh, Leaky Cauldron plus Jacques Lafleur, there had to be something amiss, didn't there? Neville's in the kitchen with the elves," Hannah said. "It's too late for real food orders, so they're doing a cleanse. Tomorrow they start getting ready for Christmas dinner. Let me see. Hey, that's pretty good."

Hannah took on some long-term residents in the upstairs rooms when she first began running the Leaky Cauldron. Some were elderly, some were newly single, some were just a bit down on their luck. The first Christmas, to celebrate her own good fortune in getting to run the business, she'd thrown a free all-the-trimmings dinner for her tenants. Christmas dinner had since become a Leaky Cauldron tradition, with both current residents and alumni invited.

"I'd better say hello," Harry said, standing and picking up his butterbeer.

Harry found Neville in the kitchen as promised, wand out, casting _purgio_ and some other cleaning charms at greasy spots.

"Harry!" Neville greeted him. "Traveling?"

"You could say that," Harry said. "Just having some conversations with usually-reliable friends and acquaintances. Did you read the Daily Prophet this morning?"

Neville looked around. No humans besides Neville and Harry were in the kitchen, and the elves were all busy well away from them.

"Yes, sorry, Harry, joys of public life, eh?" Neville asked. "Have a Merry Christmas with your wonderful family and forget about it."

"Thanks, Neville," Harry said, "It's just that the timing makes it look like it's something bigger. There's talk it's time for a change, new blood, blah-blah. Nothing wrong with that. It's what the Wizengamot is for, among other things. There are rumblings of something more sweeping, more violent."

Neville looked at Harry.

"Did you talk to Hannah?" Neville asked. "I live a little more cloistered life during the academic year. She'd be the one to pick up the political talk."

"I haven't yet," Harry said. "She's fully-occupied at the moment. I need to get back home anyway. Promised Daphne. And the twins."

Harry thanked Neville and turned to go.

"Harry," Neville said, keeping his voice down. "Don't go using yourself as bait, hmm? Too many people…"

Harry nodded. 'Counting on me,' he thought, nodding.

Daphne was still awake when the 'WHOOSH' came out of the fireplace in the library at Potter Manor. Harry walked up the stairs to the master suite. Daphne had a couple of lamps burning, more than enough light for a witch or wizard to see clearly. Harry, who'd come in through the darkened house, was letting his eyes adjust when he noticed Daphne had her wand in hand, pointed straight at his chest.

"It's me," Harry said.

"I know," said Daphne. "Just practicing."

"Oh," Harry said, "You want to make sure you remember how?"

"Only partly," said Daphne, "Mostly it's to make sure you remember what it's like to be standing there with one of these pointed at you."

Harry crossed to the closet and swept off his robe, untied his tie, and got out of his shirt and trousers before he spoke.

"One doesn't forget that," Harry said, involuntarily reaching up and touching the scars from the cutting curse.

Daphne raised herself up on her elbows.

"You're sure? Because we believe in you, Harry. Can you come here?"

Harry stood in front of Daphne and took her hands in his. Daphne stood up. She had to accommodate the twins by standing back a little and leaning forward to put her cheek on Harry's.

"Do whatever you have to, to do your duty, Harry," she said. "You always do anyway, but you have my blessing. Then, after the twins get here, and you think you've tidied this up, we will have a conversation about your retirement from public life."

"Someone has to…" Harry began, before Daphne cut him off.

"Yes, they do," Daphne said, "And, at a certain point, it becomes _Someone_ , besides you, doesn't it? That's how you got the job, don't I recall?"

"Fine," Harry said, "Maybe it is time. Let's see if this turns into anything, then we'll talk to Kingsley about it. There are at least four or five people, just in the department, who could do a fine job."

"Oh," Daphne said, "I thought it would take me a year or so just to get this far. What are you going to do next?"

"Next as in working on the immediate problem, or next as in next phase of my life?" Harry asked.

"Either one," said Daphne, letting Harry walk her across to the bath. She could handle that herself, but she also knew it made him feel like he was part of the whole pregnancy experience. Hah. As if.

"I think it might be time for an overt visit to Malfoy Manor," Harry said, talking through the door. "Call ahead, set a time, walk up to the gates in broad daylight, sit down with Lucius and Narcissa, state the situation, assure them we're open for business if something should fall into their laps, or they want to get it off their consciences."

"Is this another pureblood thing?" Daphne called out over the sound of water hitting the basin.

"I don't think so," Harry said. "I can't say a lot about the pureblood thing, considering Mum, and how I was raised. I'll always be an outsider to that core group, no matter how many pureblood witches I cohabit with. That said, this sounds and feels more like an insurgency from an outgroup, or more likely a group cultivating an outgroup approach. It's wizards. They could work on their skills, wave a wand, get whatever makes them happy. Instead, it's 'To the barricades!'"

Daphne stopped halfway back across their bedroom to laugh at the image.

"Wizards at the barricades? What a contradiction in terms."

"It's the romance," Harry said. "The cap of liberty, aloft on a pike. Marianne."

"Ahhh…" Daphne said, leaning back against the pile of pillows she employed to give her positioning options. "Harry? There is a pureblood witch over here that could use some cuddling. I estimate fifteen minutes before the heat gets to me and I send you away."

Harry eased over, trying to read Daphne's body language for cues, ending up with a sort of loose half-nelson that seemed to be fine for her, but started putting his entire upper left quadrant to sleep.

"And for the next phase of your life?" Daphne asked.

"I'm thinking of seeking employment with Teddy and James," Harry said, "Building magical greenhouses."


	34. Chapter 34

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Thirty-Four

Harry Befogged

Harry sent his card to the Malfoys by owl, before breakfast, proposing a call at Malfoy Manor at ten. Narcissa replied, also by owl, while Harry sat at the end of the dining table, with Daphne to his left, enjoying a generous helping of scrambled eggs with a craft cheddar melt over the top. Daphne's feet were bare, but Harry wore thick wool socks. One of Daphne's feet was getting a good dose of footsie from both of Harry's.

"Harry Potter?" Daphne asked.

Harry looked up from his plate.

"Yes, Daphne?" Harry answered.

"Are you even aware of what your feet are doing?"

"Yes," Harry said. "I am. It feels really good. Should I change to the other foot?"

"It might be a good idea as I fear a lanolin overdose if the wool keeps going over the same spot any longer."

Harry freed the foot he'd been massaging and returned to his scrambled eggs.

The owl arrived, back from the Malfoys and distracted Harry, forcing Daphne's other foot to go looking for some wool socks to rub.

"We're on, ten o'clock," Harry said, "Want to go?"

"Normally I'd say yes, but it's not advisable," Daphne said. "I have one more move to make. I'll save it for Greengrass Manor."

Iolanthe heard of the visit to the Malfoys and decided to come along and see Scorpius. Harry didn't tell her, but he was pleased she was going. The two of them arriving at Malfoy Manor could be seen in different ways, sowing a little doubt and confusion, should anyone be watching. Harry thought there was a chance someone would be observing his movements, or at least trying to.

Harry wasn't one to meddle in his childrens' clothing choices. He did mention to Iolanthe that she might want to dress warmly. They couldn't count on the sun in late December. He would be wearing his black traveling cloak. Iolanthe got the hint, choosing a very dark purple mid-length dress with lots of room in the skirt, tall black boots with laces and a natural rubber lug sole. The dress came up to her neck and finished with a collar not unlike that on a dress shirt, so she picked out an emerald green bow tie to finish off the look of a young witch with taste. Iolanthe put her hair up and covered it with a black knit tam. She followed Harry's lead and wore her black traveling cloak.

Harry and Iolanthe apparated to Malfoy Manor, in the interest of letting anyone interested know they were not sitting around Potter Manor or #12 Grimmauld Place waiting for events to transpire and tell them what to do. Harry walked up to the iron gates and drew his wand. One of Lucius' white peacocks screeched from somewhere.

"Be right there!" Scorpius shouted from the door. The door half-closed before opening again, letting Scorpius out. Scorpius hopped and did something odd with one foot, giving the appearance of being someone getting into his shoes at the same time he was trying to walk somewhere. Sure enough, Scorpius touched his wand to the gate, which responded by opening then stood aside on one foot, index finger inside the heel of the opposite shoe.

Shoes arranged and gate closed, Scorpius escorted his guests up the hedge-lined gravel walkway to the front door of Malfoy Manor. Harry's wand vibrated a little, a kind of soft, sub-audible hum, perhaps of protest. The first time it had been to Malfoy Manor, it had been broken, in a bag Harry wore around his neck. Harry had come out of that disastrous visit with Draco Malfoy's wand. He triumphed over Voldemort using Draco's wand, then used the elder wand he'd won from Voldemort in personal combat to repair his own holly wand. Harry rubbed his wand with his thumb, thinking calming thoughts, and before long it had settled down.

He needed his wand at the step. Harry and Iolanthe cast _purgio_ to get the grit off their foot gear, then they each cast the charm to open the closures, or in Iolanthe's case, to untie and unlace her boots.

"Everyone's in the dining room," Scorpius said, leading the way. Harry noticed a large salon filled with chairs and couches to the right, a great Christmas tree in the corner, green and silver ribbon draped in an elaborate criss-cross pattern.

"They're here!" Scorpius announced as he walked in the dining room. Lucius appeared a bit chagrined as Harry looked around the room. Narcissa was nearly-inscutable, as always. Draco focused on Harry and Iolanthe, striding forward with his hand out.

"Harry. Iolanthe," Draco said.

"Draco," said Harry, before looking toward Lucius and Narcissa. "Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy. Thank you for receiving us."

"Welcome, Harry," said Narcissa. "And Iolanthe—can we take those cloaks?"

Harry and Iolanthe slipped their traveling cloaks off their shoulders. Harry took Iolanthe's and handed both to Scorpius, along with his beret. Iolanthe kept her tam on her head.

"This way," Scorpius said to Iolanthe, showing a certain eagerness to be done with adults and their obsessions.

"Something to drink, Harry?" Draco asked.

"I never turn down mineral water," Harry said. "Still or otherwise, makes no difference to me."

Draco stepped out into the hallway and spoke to someone.

"Please sit down, Harry," Lucius said.

Harry took a seat and Lucius and Narcissa sat as well. Draco returned and sat next to Narcissa. Draco was closely followed by a house elf wearing a full butler's uniform, who carried a small green bottle of mineral water and a glass on a silver tray. The butler elf put both in front of Harry, bowed and left.

"How is Daphne?" Narcissa asked. "Ready for Christmas?"

"Oh, Christmas," Harry said, "I was ready to answer whether she was ready for 'it' to be over. Yes and Yes."

"What is James doing with his break?" Draco asked.

"If the materials arrive today as promised, he'll soon be building himself a greenhouse down the hill from the house," Harry said. "Between Fabio and Teddy, I suppose it was inevitable. The young man has the touch."

"Excellent," Lucius said. "There is no such thing as too many magical growers. I really appreciate Fabio's work, as a consumer."

"Thank-you, Mr. Malfoy," Harry said. "I'll pass that along, with your permission."

Lucius Malfoy nodded, while Narcissa smiled her half-smile.

The stiff conversation went on, never truly warming up. There was too much shared history in that house, and among the people sitting around the table. That didn't apply to Iolanthe and Scorpius, though.

"Mum," Scorpius said, simply enough, as he led Iolanthe into the great salon with the Christmas tree. Scorpius waved his hand at a portrait of Astoria, the only one on a paneled wall to the right of the door. Iolanthe could see numerous holes in the dark paneling, and guessed a wall of paintings had been requisitioned to give Astoria a competition-free venue. Below the portrait stood a table, made of several kinds of wood, with turnings, bronze hardware, and a compass rose of marquetry inset in the center of the top. A cobalt blue box sat in the center of the rose. Iolanthe knew that inside the box there would be a small black jar, with a cover, inside of which were some of the ashes from Astoria's pyre.

"Hullo, Auntie," she said, reflexively, a definite catch in her throat. Iolanthe turned her attention to Scorpius before she lost control.

"How are you?" Iolanthe asked, taking a sincere, plain and simple approach.

"It's hard," Scorpius said, "I can't lie. On the other hand, she said in the letter she wrote me that we weren't to become maudlin, so I try to honor her wishes. Want to shake presents?"

"Of course," Iolanthe said. "Got anything good?"

Iolanthe knew the answer to that because she saw the green tissue paper with the silver bow she'd seen on the train.

Harry was disciplining himself, back in the dining room, determined to let the conversation go on until sunup tomorrow if that was what it took to get Narcissa and Lucius to relax a bit and let their guard down. He didn't expect to get solid information out of them, at least not immediately. It was more important that they hear from him that there were signs something untoward was at work, that he had picked up little tremors, and some of his colleagues had as well, independent of each other. Then, if the Malfoys didn't run at the first hint of trouble, he'd make his pitch. They might hear something. Someone might come to them with a proposition. Lucius could be seen, by those who knew only his reputation, as a person with a grievance against the current order, a disgraced former Death Eater who lived quietly because the ministry gave him no other choice. Such people might think Lucius, or Draco, coveted the power and influence Harry held, thinking it was rightfully theirs.

"How is Daphne's grandmother?" Draco asked.

"Feisty, last time I saw her," Harry said. "Daphne, Tracey and I went to see her the week before Black Christmas. The youngsters were all in school, so it wasn't as much fun. She graciously pointed that out to us. She's mad for the great-grands, it is plain."

"She is a classic," Narcissa said. "She is just like those ancient witches we had when I was a child. I was in awe of them. Anytime there was a magical gathering there always seemed to be two or three of them present. They would sit there together and they'd _preside_. That's the only word for it. Magnificent women, some of them."

"That is Grandmother Davis," Harry said. "I consider it a privilege to have gotten to know her."

"She really told you she preferred the children?" Draco asked.

"She did. Not brutally. Just observed 'It's not the same without the little ones, is it?' and 'How is Zelda, Tracey? Has Scorpius been over lately, Daphne?' School notwithstanding," Harry said. "Well, we're appreciating every day we get."

"Something about your body language says you didn't come solely to tell us about your visit with Grandmother Davis, Harry," Narcissa offered. "Unless I've lost my touch."

"You haven't, of course," Harry said. "Your reading is one hundred percent accurate…"

Harry went on, starting with the little hints that had been emerging over the past few months. He left out the one that centered on Iolanthe and her school friend, because he didn't think it necessarily added any critical information. Even if he withheld the names and places, it might be too easy for a good analyst to figure out who the principals were.

"Then, there's the Daily Prophet piece," Harry said.

"Yes, Harry, that was a hatchet job," Lucius said, clearly taking a little offense at the author, and the editors who put the article in the paper. "Totally unfair, not just to you, but your family and friends. You and Daphne have been completely transparent about everything in there. All of the witches and wizards who count have seen what you've done and applaud you for it. That's what you get for being decent."

Harry didn't have a ready response, nor, it appeared, did Narcissa or Draco. Lucius' little speech was so unexpected, Harry sat there thinking.

"Well," he said, "Neither of us want anything for it. We saw some vulnerable people we could help. Pretty simple."

"The thing is," Harry went on, "The timing of the Daily Prophet piece and the other bits rumbling about suggests a connection, initially focusing on me. My conversations didn't lead to a definitive conclusion. So, we have to consider the possibility.

"Not making any suggestions, no allusions to history, I assure you," Harry said. "However, if anyone starts putting out feelers, and you're uncomfortable, for any reason at all, you can let me know and the ministry can look into it. If you want to cut off contact with them, that is fine, too. I hope you can bring it to me anyway. The ministry just wants to get to the bottom of whatever is going on. And protect magical Britain from any more disruption, of course."

"Of course, Harry," Lucius said, standing up. "Say, you haven't seen that portrait, have you?"

"Not since it got here," Harry said, standing up as well.

"This way," Lucius said, leading the way to the door. "Draco? Narcissa?"

Both demurred, so Lucius and Harry went alone. Lucius opened a large door down the hallway from the dining room.

"Here it is," Lucius said, waving toward the magical portrait from Astoria and Draco's engagement party. It was still on the easel, or more properly, on an easel, just as Astoria had related, what? Fourteen, fifteen years ago? Harry was shocked to see how young everyone looked. He hadn't noticed Walburga wearing that nice _grande dame_ smile before, or perhaps he had and had forgotten. Either way, it was a good look for her.

"Oh, my, where did the time go?" Harry asked.

"Come on, Harry, you're a young man, by wizarding standards," Lucius said. "Now, the issue at hand. There have been little things, little hints that something is stirring. As far as I know, none of the old timers are involved. No one has approached me. Maybe I'm seen as too close to you, because of the Greengrass connection. My guess would be that young, ambitious types want to displace the old guard. They aren't enamored of the Dark like my kind were. They aren't motivated by pureblood snobbery, either. Money is always a possibility.

"You have my word, Harry," Lucius laughed. "If anyone shows up trying to recruit me, or us. Did you ever think you'd hear that coming from me? Just be careful. Since the end of the war, Kingsley has led us well. Wizardry has prosperity, tranquility, opportunity. Yes, it's true. If a wizard wants to really explore magic and do something useful, like brew potions, this is as good a time for that as I've ever known. But then there are wizards who require chaos."

"Yes," Harry said. "Youth pushing elders, downtrodden demanding a little piece for themselves, the chronically unsettled looking for something. Someone is always looking for a way to exploit them."

Lucius led the way into the hallway and across to the salon, where Narcissa and Draco had joined Scorpius and Iolanthe. The young witch and wizard had been sitting on the floor inspecting presents, trying to guess contents with shaking, hefting, tilting, even smelling. Harry walked in with Lucius and looked around the room.

"Iolanthe?" he said, before getting his first look at Astoria's portrait.

"Oh," he went on, but just. Harry stood there looking at the smiling Astoria. The portrait caught her in one of her Astoria moments of happily living life just the way it came, taking everyone within shouting distance along with her.

"Gosh," Harry said, when he got his voice back. "Great portrait of Astoria."

"Seamus and Dean's guy," Draco said. "We met at the party, and Astoria always thought he was the best."

"Ready?" Iolanthe asked, standing up from her spot on the floor.

"Ready," Harry affirmed. He took one last look at Astoria's portrait before turning.

All of the Malfoys came along to walk them to the front door, where Iolanthe and Harry put their shoes back on their feet and closed them with waves of their wands.

"Thank you for listening to my whining," Harry said.

"Thank you for coming," Lucius said. "Come back anytime."

Harry and Iolanthe walked back down the gravel path between the Malfoy's hedges, to the gate. A white peacock screeched, this time in farewell.

Harry had avoided Malfoy Manor since his, Ron's and Hermione's involuntary visit just before the final battle. That experience had required many hours of therapy and more of meditation to cage and somewhat tame. Many bad things had happened to too many good people, and one house elf, in too short a time. After all his work, Harry got to a point where he could acknowledge the experience. He'd given up on trying to do more.

"So, who is getting what for Christmas at the Malfoys'?" Harry asked as they passed through the gate.

"Several had some kind of occlusionary enchantment, but of those that don't, there are dried and potted herbs from Narcissa, potions for everyone from Lucius, and what look like books, one for everyone, with little tags for the recipient but no name for a sender," Iolanthe reported. "Scorpius suspects Auntie Astoria left books for everyone with Draco."

"Sounds like her," Harry said. "How is Scorpius doing? This can't be easy for any of them."

"Surprisingly well," Iolanthe said. "He likes to talk about seeing her on the mesa. We don't know what to think about that."

"I doubt if anyone would," Harry said. "I have spent thirteen years thinking about that mesa, and the desert, and I can't get past whether the mesa was real or not. Did Scorpius ever reach out to Don Juan for that bibliography, by the way?"

"He did," Iolanthe said, "He got a letter a few weeks later saying it was nice meeting him, here were the references, and feel free to write any time. Also an invitation to Las Cruces, but to write ahead first to make sure Don Juan was going to be in town."

"Amazing," Harry said. "So we have independently established the reality of Don Juan."

"Are we going anywhere in particular?" Iolanthe asked as they strolled away from Malfoy Manor.

"How about home, then we see if your mother would like us there, or someplace else out of her hair?"

There was a little patch of evergreens just off the lane that made for a discreet spot for disapparation. Harry linked arms with Iolanthe and they arrived at the Potter Manor green after the usual trip through the neck of the funnel.

Harry looked around. He could still smell a little wood smoke, so he suspected the midwinter revel had gone on for as long as the stamina of the woodlanders held out. James was downhill from the established beds in the garden, walking around a pile of construction material with Fabio, Teddy, and a crew of garden elves. Fabio had a handful of parchments, which Harry thought were probably plans or materials lists.

"Here's something new," Harry said, taking off in the direction of James' project. "I guess this makes my question for your mother irrelevant. We won't disturb her out here."

"Look," Iolanthe said, pointing toward the house, where Daphne was crossing the patio, Tracey and Zelda matching her deliberate pace.

Daphne was wearing a caftan, the felt slippers, and wore a shawl around her shoulders that could have served as a fairly good-sized tent. The late December air was cold, but the day was sunny. Daphne stood on the patio, shaking out her caftan.

"Aaaaaah!" Harry and Iolanthe heard her say, followed by some giggles from Zelda.

Daphne waved, so Harry and Iolanthe waved back. Daphne, Tracey and Zelda sat on patio chairs and looked at the construction site. The frame of the greenhouse started going up as Harry and Iolanthe were walking.

"Nice," Harry said, looking at the framing. Doors were outlined at both ends, and soon there were elves aloft, placing and securing roof components. Watching the operation progress, Harry wondered if the wizards were actually superfluous to the successful completion of the project.

"Merry Christmas, Grandfather," Iolanthe said, stretching out an arm and giving Fabio a hug.

"Merry Christmas to you, Iolanthe Astoria," Fabio responded. "Will we be seeing you tomorrow?"

"Mother probably has the answer to that," Iolanthe said.

"I expect so," Harry said. "Her normal energy is going into planning at the moment. Her movements are so restricted she has to move vicariously. We'll have to arrange something. It wouldn't do for the children to have Christmas without their grandparents. Thanks, by the way for all of your help with this."

"You're welcome, although I should be thanking you, and these young men, for giving me the chance to build a few things with them," Fabio said.

Teddy and James looked up and gave Fabio a smile.

Harry checked his watch. The crew would need feeding soon. He called for Periwinkle and asked her to bring sandwiches and hot chocolate for everyone.

"Want to see if your mother thinks she can come down?" Harry asked Iolanthe. "She might want to take a closer look at the new construction going up between her and the Dart."

He didn't expect Daphne to take him up on it, but the next time he looked, Iolanthe and Tracey were walking down the hill on either side of Daphne.

"Mum," James said when he looked up from his work and saw Daphne. "I didn't expect you to be here."

"How could I not?" Daphne said. "All my wizards are here in one place, so of course I had to come and hold court. Teddy, where have you been? What are you growing in your greenhouse?"

"Some of the herbs," Teddy said, "Basil, chamomile, foxglove. I'm thinking of going into mandrakes now that I've got more space."

"Have you decided what you're going to grow first, James?" Daphne asked.

"Sure, tomatoes," James said. "I require fresh tomatoes. After I get my fill I'll think of what I'm going to plant second."

"Brilliant, James," said Teddy.

Everyone worked while grabbing bites of sandwiches and gulps of hot chocolate, to get the building up while the weather was favorable. Tracey and Iolanthe got Daphne back up the hill and inside Potter Manor. Iolanthe came back down to tell Teddy not to worry about dinner because Daphne had invited Victoire and Andromeda and they'd all be eating together at the Potters.' Fabio, on the other hand, was expected at home. No explanation was forthcoming.

Construction of a very nicely-sized greenhouse doesn't consume a lot of time, if one has a wand and some skilled elves to work with, and James' was up and glazed before dark. He didn't have the interior fitted out to hold the plants or water inside the building, but there was time to get that accomplished before heading back to Hogwarts.

Fabio had left around three. Shortly before five an owl arrived informing Daphne that Kendra and Fabio were free, after all, and would be along shortly. Fabio and Daphne had foreseen that kind of development when they were designing Potter Manor, and built expansion charms into the dining room. Those fitted nicely with the infinitely expandable dining room table Daphne found with the help of Seamus and Dean. Periwinkle made a few menu adjustments and additions, and dinner was served.

Despite what turned into a memorable family feast, Harry was awake very early on Christmas morning. Bits and pieces from the last few days whirled around in his mind, ceaselessly, stubbornly refusing to fit together, or hold still so Harry could move them around himself. He was particularly concerned about Iolanthe and James. Someone advised Iolanthe's friend to stay away from Potters. Maybe they just didn't like Potters. There were students from magical families that would have had bad experiences with him or his friends. Maybe it was a simple grudge.

What if it wasn't? Harry had, without intending to, acquired an agent in the person of his own daughter. Her friend could be vulnerable to coercion, or worse. What if she were turned against Iolanthe? James was there, too, and had nothing to do with any of Harry's work for the ministry, but was exposed just the same. Was there danger anywhere? Was Harry sinking into paranoia?

Harry knew he needed help sorting everything, but there was one person in the world he could talk to, and he was determined to leave her alone as long as he could. For now, all he would be able to do was watch, wait and prepare.

Harry was sitting in a wing chair by their bed when Daphne woke up Christmas morning. They exchanged 'Merry Christmas' greetings. Daphne swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, while Harry jumped up with a late, somewhat lame, "Let me…"

"I'm fine, get me some coffee, please?" Daphne said, picking up the treadbare crimson and gold bathrobe from the foot of their bed.

Freshened up, caffeinated and ready to face the day, Daphne pulled on a billowy emerald and silver caftan and summoned Harry with a "Let's go!" Muffled sounds from the salon betrayed the early scouting expedition around the Christmas tree. Harry and Daphne were the last to arrive, and found James, Iolanthe, Tracey and Zelda already there and waiting.

"Merry Christmas!" was exchanged at deafening volume. Harry declared Christmas officially on, and the presents fair game. Present-opening, thank-yous, breakfast and some preliminary trying-on took several hours. Once completed, the magical Christmas morning gave way to the magical Christmas afternoon.

Wizarding households engaged in elaborate Christmas footwork to allow visits to friends and relatives. Families negotiated with four or five others to arrange an hour or two of at-home to receive guests, before closing shop and embarking on their own calls. Visits, toasts and nibbling from vast buffets sometimes went on far into the night, depending on reserves of stamina.

The Potters were not all going to be paying calls this Christmas due to Daphne. Harry and Tracey took everyone to Greengrass Manor, the Burrow, and the Davis celebration at Tracey's grandmothers. The last was a bit subdued, for a magical Christmas, out of consideration for the old lady's age. Still, she delighted in seeing the children, including Scorpius, who showed up with a striking knit Slytherin scarf that he wore even after hanging up his traveling cloak.

"Beautiful scarf," Iolanthe said, keeping her voice down.

"Thank-you," Scorpius said, "I thought you might have seen it before."

"I don't know, Scorpius," Iolanthe replied, "That has the look of one of those master knitters from the Gryffindor common room. Not much chance someone like me would be in there looking at the works-in-progress."

After Harry and Tracey got the children home, everyone headed for the salon and revisiting the presents. A long discussion followed with additional thank-you's for presents received and highlights from the afternoon's travels. Harry sat in the middle of everything, watching, not saying much, just savoring the moment. He knew he had to talk to Daphne, and he'd have to tell her about Iolanthe and her friend. It had to be done before everyone went back to Hogwarts.

Harry had no way of knowing how Daphne would react. He didn't think Iolanthe was in any more danger at Hogwarts than she was with them. That didn't mean Daphne would see the situation the same way he did. Harry resolved to speak to Daphne, sometime on Boxing Day. Putting off the inevitable wouldn't make it any easier.

The opportunity arose the following morning. Afterwards, Harry thought he'd gotten off fairly easily. Daphne showed a little agitation when Harry synopsized Iolanthe's report of her contacts with Lissette, but the possible connection with whatever else was rumbling didn't seem to bother her. When he finished, Daphne sat with a distant look, pinching her lower lip.

"Okay," she said at last. "No need to over-react. Iolanthe's part could be isolated, some clan doesn't like Potters, on principle, and doesn't want their daughter or niece or cousin anywhere near us. That I would understand."

"Oh?" Harry said.

"Oh?" Daphne came back. "Yes, Harry, those years I spent in Slytherin weren't entirely wasted. Some of those people won't learn from their mistakes. The only thing that will cure their nostalgia for Voldemort will be crossing the River Styx. Then they'll likely turn and flip you off one last time before they step into the boat."

"Ah," Harry said. "You're not furious with me for listening to Iolanthe and not coming straight to you, then?"

"No, I understand your position," Daphne said. "You aren't going to recruit her for your nefarious purposes, are you?"

"No," said Harry, "That's not for me. I know myself well enough, and I couldn't be objective about Iolanthe or James. If she wanted to do something like this she would be better off as an auror, or an Unspeakable. Do the research, solve the puzzle, same warm fuzzy feeling, without the sneaking around.

"Besides, I have always thought she was modeling herself on you," Harry went on. "All these animals, magical and otherwise, traipsing around, field notes—she's a budding magical biologist of some kind, or maybe another healer.

"Now, I propose we bring her in and I'll confess I had to brief you on our conversation, so she knows from the outset and doesn't stumble across it thus finding out her parents lied by omission."

"If that's what you think is best, I'm in," Daphne said. "To be honest, I'm of two minds, so let's do it your way."

The conversation with Iolanthe was surprisingly easy. She seemed to understand Harry had to confide in Daphne where she was concerned, confidentiality notwithstanding.

Harry finished up with a little cautionary lecture.

"There are indications that someone is plotting something extra-legal," Harry said, picking his words. "Nothing definitive has emerged. It could be the normal currents of society. Peaceful change through the political process, new knowledge affecting social arrangements, generational change. If it is something else, we want you to stay well clear, if you will, please. You're not to start thinking you're deep cover and have reporting responsibilities. Understand?"

"Yes, Father," Iolanthe said, "I don't go looking for trouble."

Harry looked at Daphne, who pointed her index finger at Harry's middle as if it were a three and one-half inch rapier.

"Touche'," she said.

Harry would have liked to respond, had appropriate words occurred to him.

The days flew by, mid-term break came to an end and Harry found himself back on the platform with the Granger-Weasleys, Tracey and his own two Hogwarts scholars. Rose, Scorpius and Iolanthe formed up and invited the first-years to clump with them, but the other three had their own conversations to make and drifted away. Harry made sure everyone got aboard, took a last look around for left-behinds where they'd all been standing on the platform, and turned to leave. As he walked toward the barrier, someone handed Harry a sheet of parchment, which Harry accepted, giving it a quick look as he followed in Ron and Hermione's wake.

"YOU ARE CALM AMID CHAOS" the banner at the top said. Harry assessed it was a magical product advertisement of some kind, masquerading as a self-help leaflet. Someone was always handing them out, although most of the ones he saw were for muggle products, directed at muggles and lying in one of the public trash cans around muggle London.

"FREE LECTURE" said another banner at the bottom of the sheet, which Harry noticed as he folded it in quarters and stuffed it into a pocket in his traveling cloak.

Many of the parents in Harry and Daphne's age group made their way to the Leaky Cauldron on the days their students returned to Hogwarts. They drank mineral water or butterbeer, some of the more adventurous would have a firewhiskey, some ordered lunch, and everyone enjoyed the company for an hour before splitting up to go home. Harry sat down in the little booth by the fireplace, where he was joined by Tracey and Hermione, Ron having gotten into a conversation about wands with some fellow enthusiasts.

"Tell Daphne we miss her," Hermione said.

"I'll do that," Harry said. "With complete sincerity."

"When does she want to go to Greengrass Manor?" Tracey asked. "She still hadn't made up her mind the last time I asked."

"She wanted to wait until the fifteenth or sixteenth," Harry said. "They're due the fifteenth of February. Are you going to join her this time?"

"I'll go with her," Tracey said. "We'll see if she kicks me out."

"I don't really put a lot of credence in that possibility, Tracey," said Hermione.

"Me neither," Tracey said. "Who's Jacques Lafleur?"

"Mystery man," Harry said. "Hermione?"

"One of those mystic, New Age wizards, or there is one named Jacques Lafleur," Hermione said. "Doesn't mean there can't be more than one."

"This one is a vampire," Tracey said, "At least according to the fine woodwork of this booth."

"I'm going to have that panel replaced," Hannah Abbott said, setting some drinks in front of them.

"Why?" Tracey and Hermione asked together.

"That's some pretty good carving," Tracey added.

"There was a witch in here a few days ago and she sat in the booth and conjured a flame in front of that," Hannah said. "I asked her to put it out, nicely. She didn't want to because, according to her, I didn't understand, but if I did, I wouldn't ask that of her. I didn't have to tell her to leave, but I did make it clear those were her choices. She didn't like it but she stayed for the food she'd ordered. Gave me a look when she left."

"Guru wizard and vampire," Tracey said.

"With acolytes," added Hermione.

"Lovely," said Tracey.

Harry and Tracey used the floo to get back to Potter Manor. With Zelda back at school, and Daphne so near to term, Tracey planned to return to her room at the Potters,' rather than rattle around the Black estate by herself.

When Harry hung up his cloak he noticed a corner of the parchment sticking out of the pocket. He pulled it out and unfolded it on his way to the library/gallery where Daphne was spending the greater part of her days.

"Ever hear of Jacques Lafleur?" Harry asked as he walked in on Daphne.

Daphne held out her hand for the advert parchment, took it, and read it, then handed it back.

"Someone you want to stay away from," Daphne said, "Although I think you would have the good sense not to be taken in. He lectures to wizarding types, talks about some philosophy he studied, then takes up a collection. I've had a couple of patients who got involved and came out badly."

"Really?" Harry asked. "Got involved how?"

"Once a person is more than a casual attendee, the organization starts to demand more and more of their time, then any money or possessions they have, then there is a hierarchy below the leader and the ones near the top pick out sexual partners and dictate who among the others can or can't have a partner. The lower level end up being personal servants or out on the street with collection cans or handing out leaflets."

"Sounds like a cult," Harry said.

"Oddly enough, that's what I thought I'd just been describing," Daphne observed.

"What is the draw?" Harry asked.

"The leader has done all the work for the rest of the world so no one has to do it for themselves," Daphne said. "All that is required to understand everything is to listen to the leader's message and put the rest aside—friends, family, any commitment that gets in the way of total focus on the leader and the organization. People who want out find their way to the mental maladies staff at St. Mungo's, if they're lucky."

"Someone was handing these out on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters," Harry said. "I wonder if that is legal, considering everything."

"Almost certainly," Daphne said. "The people who organize these are usually very careful to stay on the right side of the law. They have solicitors who can make life difficult for anyone who opposes their client. The followers almost never turn on the leader while they are inside. My patients knew they had been misled and mistreated, but they didn't want to involve the authorities. Oddly enough, they could react negatively to the mistreatment, but to them the leader was genuinely enlightened and meant well, while the people below him abused their positions."

Harry thought over Daphne's cautionary tale.

"These might not have anything to do with each other, or anything at all," said Harry, "But this is a curious string of events, I'd say. Iolanthe has a casual acquaintance who gets told she's to stay clear of Potters. Iolanthe suspects the acquaintance would like to say more but is afraid. Iolanthe comes home for break and reports to me. Two days before Christmas, I sit in a booth at the Leaky Cauldron and see Jacques Lafleur in a bit of carving. Today someone hands me a leaflet at the train station, where I'd gone with a lot of other parents to see the young scholars off to Hogwarts. The Head Unspeakable was with me in the booth today and informed me there is a magical guru named Jacques Lafleur. Hannah said a witch had conjured a flame in front of Jacques' carving and she'd had to ask her to put it out. Jacques Lafleur has come to the attention of the Chief of Service for Mental Maladies at St. Mungo's for abusing some of his followers, or letting it go on. Did I leave anything out?"

"How would I know, Harry?" Daphne asked. "This is the first time we've touched on any of this."

"True," said Harry. He stared straight ahead, running over the points once more.

"Are you going to solve it tonight?" Daphne asked.

"Doubt it," Harry said.

"I doubt it as well," Daphne said. "Opening us up to the possibility of having something to eat before it gets too late and we chuck it and turn in."


	35. Chapter 35

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Thirty-Five

Iolanthe in Spring

Hogwarts threw off its mid-winter lethargy with the return of the students. The corridors and classrooms were refilled with magic as the students brewed potions, waved wands and clumped in critical mass-level magical configurations. The staircases moved with greater imagination, giving their passengers more inspiring challenges when they reached the top, or bottom. The enchanted ceiling in the great hall paid greater attention to detail, including circling kites and the odd dragon in its replications of the outside sky.

January dragged for Iolanthe. She launched herself into her studies because they were the best way she knew to avoid intrusion of unwelcome thoughts that served no purpose except to disrupt her peace of mind.

The loss of her Aunt Astoria was still never very far away, but she sat often with Scorpius when he wanted to talk about his mother. Sharing memories, they both found, helped them stay grateful to Astoria for all she had done, while driving away despair at the thought she was lost to them, at least for this lifetime. Rose and Iolanthe still monitored Scorpius closely, listening for clues to his internal well-being in all their conversations.

When the calendar turned to February, Iolanthe's mental state changed completely. Her new siblings were literally days away. Daphne's body could decide the twins were ready to come into the world at any time, a manifestation of magic even muggles recognized. Iolanthe tried mightily to focus on classwork and keep herself from sitting in one place waiting for the owl to arrive with the news. Iolanthe spoke to James every day, checking to make sure he had a bag ready with whatever he would need at home when they were allowed to leave. Neither of them struggled with their courses so arrangements were in place for Millicent Bulstrode to take them to Greengrass Manor as soon as the school day was over. Then they would have two full days, forty-eight hours, to imbibe the intoxicating essence of the newly-expanded Potter family before Harry brought them back.

As it turned out, no one needed to worry about school. Harry's owl arrived at the headmistress' office at mid-day on the second Friday in February. Professor McGonagall sent notes to Professor Bulstrode, Iolanthe and James with the instruction to plan on leaving for Greengrass Manor as soon as the last class of the day was concluded.

Daphne didn't have a particularly hard time, once things began to happen. Rather it was one of those cases when the magic that governs such things did not want to make up its mind to get going and stay with it. She was as tired as she could remember ever having been at the end. The runes were right once more, correctly predicting Iolanthe and James would get two little brothers.

The babies took a little nourishment before happily submitting to the usual passing-about. Daphne and Harry had chosen to name the twins Fabio and Kingsley, and had little bracelets ready with the names, which turned out to be very foresighted. The two were undistinguishable otherwise, which would have raised issues of identification unless some measure was in place to differentiate between them.

James paid the necessary courtesy calls on his mother that weekend, then spent the rest of his time back at Potter Manor, outfitting his new greenhouse. Iolanthe, by contrast, wanted nothing more than to sit in a rocker next to Daphne's bed, holding Fabio or Kingsley. She took the opportunity of a captive Daphne to raise a dormant issue once more.

"Mother, don't you think I ought to take a year off from school and help out around here?" Iolanthe asked.

"Your father also waits until I am at my lowest ebb to broach that kind of thing," Daphne said. "Odd. I thought you had more sense than him. Perhaps I'll have to reassess."

"Mother," Iolanthe came back with a slight cluck of her tongue. "I'll learn so much more under your guidance than those professors can teach me. This is real magic, and I won't get it anywhere else. I'll take careful notes of everything. It will be good preparation for when I start producing grandchildren for you and Father."

"You're so humane, Iolanthe," Daphne said. "We'll need to discuss keeping things in perspective sometime soon. I had been under the impression, false, it turns out, that we had covered that."

Fabio looked up at Iolanthe and smiled.

"Oh, look, Fabio likes the idea," Iolanthe reported. "He's been listening already. Such a big boy!"

Gushing enthusiasm aside, there wasn't a very strong case for Iolanthe to drop out of school and stay home to raise siblings. Kendra, Tracey, Victoire and a boatload of elves were all available and enthusiastic baby-holders, bottle-preparers, laundresses and new-mother-helpers. James and Iolanthe were back in class Monday morning, and spent mealtimes updating everyone on the new Potters. Iolanthe reveled in it, but James quickly tired of the questioning. He had a ready-made escape, though, because he had permission to spend any free time he had volunteering in the greenhouses. The small group of students who gravitated to herbology comprised an informal fraternity. Some of the sixth and seventh years had individual projects and spent much of their time in independent study. They also read widely, and brought magical gardening columns of note to the attention of the lower years.

James was already something of a minor celebrity in the herbology group, of a collateral sort, due to his relationships with Fabio and Teddy. Both were well-known among the plant crowd. Those who knew about it pressed James for more information about his greenhouse than they did for his new brothers. James had spent at least half the time he'd been on baby break working on the greenhouse at the Potters.' Hence he could give the herbology fellowship step-by-step reporting on the construction and outfitting of a magical greenhouse.

Rose did not get permission to leave Hogwarts to meet the newborns, but Easter break came around, just after Daphne's relocation to Potter Manor with the twins. Rose would have moved in with the Potters and shared Iolanthe's room if she were not required to return home once in awhile. Some exploratory conversations transpired between Iolanthe and Rose on the subject, but they never went anywhere.

Scorpius also took the floo system to Potter Manor over break. The weather began to get warmer, so Scorpius' new scarf ceased to take a wrap around his throat, but became a kind of stole, as if he were a magical priest, just down from the pulpit, perpetually on his way to the magical sacristy.

Daphne was very run-down when the twins were born, but a houseful of adoring attendants, a sensitive and loving husband and several days of rest soon had her back on her feet. She spent a good part of the students' break in the first floor library, twins at the ready in their cradles, receiving visiting witches from Britain, Ireland and France. She especially appreciated calls from members of Iolanthe and Rose's study group. As a study group alumna, she enjoyed interrogating the young witches about their reading and projects, all the while serving pots of Periwinkle's tea alongside trays of her cookies.

As exhilarating as the birth of the twins was, by the end of Easter break Iolanthe and Rose found they appreciated getting back to the relative calm of Hogwarts, the library and their dormitories. Spring arrived in Scotland shortly after the return from break. The students enjoyed the return of green grass and wildflowers to the grounds. When term was finished and they stood once more on the Hogsmeade railroad platform, conversation turned to the upcoming summer and the necessity of using it constructively.

"Maybe you can sign up for tutorials with James," Rose said. "One can't be too well-informed on the latest herbological breakthroughs."

"Brilliant idea, Rose," Iolanthe answered. "Will you be expanding your haberdashery to include some knitted house slippers?"

"Well," Rose drawled, "I wanted to solicit your thoughts on this design. For a future contingency, when a gift would be appropriate."

Rose slid her hand in the bag that hung by her side and pulled out a green and silver knitted slipper. Iolanthe was initially speechless. Rose had started with a supple leather sole, then knitted a closely-knotted upper of angora yarn. Not satisfied with a basic design suitable for padding about the house when no one was around, Rose used the silver yarn to create a _trompe l'oeil_ loafer, outlining the signature trim of a popular brand.

"Impressive," Iolanthe said. "Without objection, I will take it as established that the pair has to be ready for an upcoming birthday. Better put it back before you spoil the surprise. How did you get his size?"

"Subterfuge, of course," Rose said. "We sat next to each other at an outdoor lesson for Care of Magical Creatures, I deployed my wand for some silent _recordare_ , brought it back to the dorm and transferred the outline of his foot to a piece of parchment."

"Blast that perfidious hat, Rose," Iolanthe nearly cried. "Your talents are so badly needed in Slytherin. I try, but there is only so much one witch can do."

"All the more reason we must distribute our efforts," Rose said. "Although, Zelda is giving me a lot of help with the louts and brawlers."

"The Gryffindors?" Iolanthe asked.

"Yes, according to Zelda, she was innocently eavesdropping on a conversation between the witches Tracey Davis and Daphne Greengrass Potter…"

"As one does," Iolanthe said, in complete agreement with Rose.

"Absolutely, it's standard procedure," Rose acknowledged. "While Miss Zelda was present, said witches frankly exchanged views on the Gryffindors of their acquaintance, Ms. Davis allowing how they are louts, and a bunch of brawlers, and her companion adding the Gryffindors are strangers to refinement and lacking in subtlety. Well, one does what one may, and gives thanks for the candid comment."

"You are a such a great humanitarian, of the witch variety, Rose," Iolanthe said in a slightly awestruck tone. "If Merope Gaunt had only had a friend like you, just think…"

"At least I can be thankful you'll have me to share your troubles and most intimate secrets with," Rose concluded, as Scorpius walked up.

"Ready?" he asked.

"We are, now that our big, strong escort wizard is here," Iolanthe answered.

"Ouch," Scorpius observed.

"What?" Rose asked. "We really have been waiting for you."

Scorpius looked from one to the other. He knew the witches weren't being completely straight with him, but he couldn't nail down the exact nature of their bent commentary. He decided to cut his losses.

"Zelda, Hugo, James…?" Scorpius asked.

"Already aboard, allegedly," Iolanthe said. "Although, we might want to walk the platform and board down there, just to make sure. Trunks all handed over?"

Scorpius and Rose nodded, and the three turned toward the end of the train. Iolanthe walked by a witch wearing a button with a photo of a man's face, who was handing out leaflets, accepted one, thanked the young woman without looking at her, and kept moving. The leaflet ended up in a pocket of Iolanthe's robe.

It proved unnecessary to walk the length of the train, as James, Hugo and Zelda were framed by an open window, leaning out and chatting with Hagrid. The compartment they occupied was not going to hold everyone for long, as boisterous no-longer-first-years kept fitting one or two more into the fully-stuffed box.

Hagrid drew on his decades of experience and called through the window for some of the later arrivals to vacate the compartment.

"You've just spent spring term bunched up together, it's time to spread out a bit," Hagrid reasoned. A few at a time caught the logic and departed, restoring balance in that part of the universe.

"Hagrid!" Iolanthe called out, causing the half-giant to turn.

"Iolanthe, and Rose and Scorpius Malfoy," Hagrid replied. "Very fine scholars all. Enjoy your summer break and give my best to your parents."

"We'll do that," Rose said. "I hope we see you this summer."

"Now, where would you be seeing me while you're on your summer break?" Hagrid asked.

"Who knows?" asked Iolanthe. "The surprise is the fun part."

"I can't fault you there, Miss Potter," Hagrid said. "Best be gettin' on board, now, don't you think?"

Scorpius climbed the steps at the end of the car, then paused to wait for Iolanthe and Rose. They were walking the corridor, scouting for a compartment, when the engineer sounded the whistle and the Hogwarts Express pulled out of Hogsmeade.

Harry, Daphne and the twins had returned to #12 Grimmauld Place a few weeks before end of term. Trix was at the townhouse most of the time, helping Daphne, while Kreacher focused on housekeeping and the kitchen. Harry and Tracey went to King's Cross station to meet the returning children, found Hermione and Ron, and stood on the platform together while they waited.

"Summer plans?" Ron asked Harry, "Or is that a silly question?"

"Not at all," Harry assured him. "Newborns cut down the number of places where it is convenient for us to go, as you surely remember, but we've got some options. I would guess I could take the family to Greengrass Manor every day and they would be welcome."

"Sounds delightful," Ron said, Hermione giving him a look that involved a single eyebrow raised just half-way to its maximum altitude.

Not long afterward, the Hogwarts Express chuffed its way to a stop alongside Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, and the scholars poured out of the cars to begin the summer holiday. Harry and Tracey spotted Scorpius, Rose and Iolanthe and waved them over. Scorpius greeted everyone, then left immediately to locate Draco. Zelda and Hugo showed up next.

"Who's seen James?" Harry asked, feeling just slightly uneasy that his son was the last to arrive.

"He was on the train," Zelda said, looking around. "There he is."

James was walking with an older witch who wore a button with someone's picture on her cloak. Harry saw her pull a sheet of parchment from a bunch in her hand, and hold it out to James. James took the parchment, then excused himself with something that Harry didn't catch.

"Hullo!" James called as he trotted up, adding a wave with the hand holding the sheet. He joined the group, shook Ron's hand, then Harry's, then Hermione's, before submitting to a crushing hug from Tracey.

"That's from your mother," Tracey said, in explanation. "Welcome back!"

"Thank-you so much," James said. "Trolleys? Or are we to bewitch the trunks and fly them home?"

"There is a line of trolleys ready to go near the baggage car," Ron said. "If they're all gone by the time we get there I'm sure Hermione will conjure us a few more. What do we need? Five? Six?"

Hermione shook her head, having discovered Ron's incorrigibility some years before.

"Could you?" Iolanthe asked, keeping her voice down as she fell in with James on the walk to the baggage car. "Fly one home?"

She didn't think James had the magic to actually bewitch his trunk, at least not in a form under his control, but he had discovered unaided flight. Iolanthe didn't have any reason to believe he couldn't at least bring the trunk along on a short hop.

"Not yet," James answered, maintaining the quiet tone Iolanthe had established. "But I'm working on it. Then I have to master flying and occluding myself at the same time. Maybe by seventh year. Use it on my last trip home."

Iolanthe was impressed with James' self-confidence. She didn't like admitting it, because she was quite mad for her brother, always had been, but she conceded that just possibly Hufflepuff had been the perfect place for James. He was an individual, that was certain. In either Slytherin or Gryffindor, James would have been measured against immediate family, then the outward-spreading ripples of grandparents, cousins and close friends.

Ravenclaw would have appreciated his scholarly qualities, but the Blues' idea of fun leaned toward holding interminable common room debates on the topic of which came first, the acorn or the oak, or constructing elaborate hoaxes. Teddy Lupin had also gone through Hufflepuff, and Iolanthe could not remember ever hearing anyone say a negative thing about Teddy. Sorting into Hufflepuff was without a doubt a reliable indicator that the first year sitting under the sorting hat had the potential to become a stable, generous, tolerant and accepting adult. Much as she loved being a Snake, Iolanthe could not fault Hufflepuff's results.

The group headed for the pile of trunks that had just been offloaded from the baggage car, parting the crowd on the platform with the overwhelming mass of Potters and Granger-Weasleys moving as a body. Iolanthe listened to the patter as they walked, everyone's priorities for their first weeks of liberty rising like cream.

"When will we go to the Burrow?" Rose asked Ron, prompting a vision of Rose and Molly sitting, knitting and gossiping.

"Mother, have you ever heard of the British Museum?" Hugo asked. "It's supposed to be some kind of muggle place with a lot of interesting odds and ends."

"Will Teddy and Victoire be at the house?" asked James. "I sent him an owl. I have some ideas for the garden."

"Which garden?" asked a genuinely-curious Harry, his mind roaming from #12 to Cornwall and the Black estate, to the Potter Manor gardens, to Teddy's expanding greenhouses at Andromeda Tonks' place, to James' personal greenhouse at the manor.

"I was thinking about the one at Grimmauld Place," answered James, "But they all need a little work."

Iolanthe checked her memories of all the gardens James and Teddy worked in, including Fabio's at Greengrass Manor, and couldn't come up with a single feature that she thought needed work.

"That's the difference between Slytherins and Hufflepuffs, I guess," she thought to herself.

They had just gotten the Granger-Weasley trunks and hand baggage on a trolley and begun loading the Potters' onto a second when Scorpius walked by. He caught Iolanthe's eye, ignored everyone else, and tilted his head slightly in the direction of one of the great brick columns.

"One word?" he asked.

"Sure," Iolanthe answered, following Scorpius.

They put the column between themselves and the group. Scorpius held out his hand. He had palmed a small envelope, the size usually used for childrens' birthday party invitations or thank-you notes. Iolanthe opened the envelope and took out a small piece of parchment which was folded over once. Inside it said, "Talk?" It was signed with a single 'L.'

Iolanthe fought the crush of confusing, contradictory thoughts and counter-thoughts, each trying to exert primacy over the others. She had her instructions, from her father, no less, for how to handle the next contact. The instructions did not fit the circumstances. Scorpius needed an answer.

Iolanthe remembered Hugo's question, and pulled a quill from a pocket and stuck the inky end in her mouth, getting just enough ink liquified to write:

"Lunch. 12. Mon. Brit Museum."

She put the slip of parchment back in the envelope and tucked the flap closed.

"Taking it back to her?" Iolanthe asked.

Scorpius looked at Iolanthe, his face saying he wanted to know what this was all about, but he wasn't sure if he ought to ask.

"Just take it, this once, please," Iolanthe said.

Scorpius kept eye contact, nodded once, and departed, circling the brick column rather than walk back through the Potters and Granger-Weasleys.

"Can we…?" Iolanthe asked Daphne that evening after dinner. They were in the garden with Harry, James, Tracey and Zelda. Iolanthe looked Daphne in the eye, then looked toward the door that opened into the second drawing room, then back.

"Of course," Daphne said.

Iolanthe went in Daphne's study, ahead of Daphne, who closed the door behind them. Daphne already had her wand out. She cast _muffliato_ , finishing with a little wave at the lock.

Iolanthe was still standing. Daphne offered Iolanthe the settee, while she sat down on her desk chair.

"So…?" Daphne said. "What's on your mind?"

"The contact I had to tell Father about asked to talk. I got a note at King's Cross. I had to think fast, and I didn't know what to do, so I wrote back I would meet her for lunch at the British Museum at noon on Monday. That's not what Father told me to do, but we were thinking of Hogwarts, not London," Iolanthe said, the words coming out in a rush.

"That's fine, dear," Daphne said. "Just lunch with a schoolmate. Why the British Museum?"

"It was the only place that came to mind," Iolanthe said. "Hugo asked Hermione about going just before. It must have been stuck up here."

Iolanthe tapped her forefinger against her temple.

"Well, Iolanthe, I think you did just fine," Daphne said. "I'm not the professional around here, but you didn't freeze up. You picked a place that is not exactly on the magical circuit, but there are lots of reasons a witch might visit that museum. Some of those galleries positively reek magic, as I'm sure you've noticed. We'll have to get your father in here for a full briefing, but why don't we socialize a little longer? That way we won't call attention to ourselves. If anyone asks, I'll say we just needed to have a little female conversation. That usually puts an end to the prying."

Iolanthe waited patiently while conversation wound down and people drifted off to bed. It seemed like Harry and Zelda would never run out of quidditch stories, but that was probably a function of Iolanthe's anxious state. Finally, Tracey and Zelda took their leave and headed upstairs.

"Looks like it's just us," Harry said, leaning back in his chair for a nice stretch.

"It is," Iolanthe said. "Now we can talk."

"Oh?" Harry said, hearing something in her voice. "Is out here okay, or is it something requiring a little higher level of security?"

"The latter," Iolanthe said.

Harry looked at her.

"Let's go, then," he said as he stood.

Daphne had come back down from checking on the twins and was sitting in her study reading a journal for healers. She looked up at the sound of Iolanthe's knock.

"Oh," Daphne said. "Should I go someplace else?"

Harry looked at Iolanthe.

"No," Iolanthe said, "It's better if you're both here."

Iolanthe closed the door behind them and waited for Daphne to lock it and cast _muffliato_.

"Father, my acquaintance, the one we discussed before, stayed away from me since we all talked at Christmas," Iolanthe began. "Today, after we got to London, Scorpius asked to talk to me. He took me around behind the column and he gave me a little envelope. Inside there was a note. It just said, "Talk?—L."

"L—that's my acquaintance. I couldn't do what we agreed because she wasn't there so I couldn't show her the note. The only thing I could think of was to invite her to lunch, at the British Museum, noon on Monday. Scorpius was right there, I didn't have time to think…"

Iolanthe got more agitated with each sentence.

"It's okay, no harm," Harry assured her. He wasn't completely certain that was true, but an upset Iolanthe wouldn't contribute to a solution.

Iolanthe looked like she didn't believe him.

"Really," Harry said, "Don't worry."

"How did you invite her to lunch, if you didn't have her there to ask?"

"I had a quill, with dried ink on it, so I stuck it in my mouth and got it wet enough to make a little ink and I wrote it on the note. I put it back inside and closed the envelope and gave it back to Scorpius. I have to assume he got it back to Lissette."

"Okay," Harry said. He sat still for awhile, organizing his thoughts.

"You don't have any ideas about why she waited until now?" Harry asked.

"No," Iolanthe said. "Maybe she heard something on the train?"

"And she didn't use your system again after she told you about being warned off of Potters by someone?"

"No," Iolanthe said.

Harry sat quietly for a little longer.

"If it is alright with your mother, would you be interested in keeping your lunch date?" Harry asked.

"I guess," Iolanthe said. "I like the museum."

"And, if it's alright with you," Harry said looking at Daphne, "Would you consider taking Iolanthe to the British Museum Monday morning? Around eleven, perhaps? If we need muggle money that gives you an hour to go by Gringott's, then back to the museum, a little touring, and then you buy Iolanthe and any of her chums who might wander by a bit of lunch in one of the cafés. Isn't there one that has pizza?"

"Harry Potter," Daphne said, suddenly very serious. Iolanthe caught the change of tone.

"Ahh…should I," Iolanthe managed to get out, before Harry and Daphne both said, "Stay."

"Where does Lissette live?" Harry asked.

"I don't think I ever heard," Iolanthe said. "Our conversations were on other things."

"So we don't know if she can get away to the Museum, at this point," Harry said. "She may be from a village and never comes to London except to take the Hogwarts Express. She might not know how to find the British Museum. In which case, a mother-daughter outing is just that, no cause for anyone to make anything out of it."

"If she were to show up, presently a big IF," Harry went on, "At some point it will be convenient to show her the little note. No reason for her to say anything compromising out loud. If her answer is affirmative, the professionals will handle it from there."

"Are we leaving something out?" Daphne asked. "Sweetheart, what if she just wants to talk? Like chums do?"

"We aren't really chums," Iolanthe said. "She is three years ahead of me, so we didn't have classes together, or sleep in the same sections in the dormitory. I helped her out with something once, in second year. She was really grateful at the time, but we didn't have any interactions after that, until she asked me to come to the Owlery to talk. That's when she warned me she thought something was up that could hurt the Potters."

"Do you mind telling me her last name?" Harry asked. "Lissette…"

"Lestrange," Iolanthe said. "I asked her when we talked the first time if this had anything to do with the other Lestrange blaming Father for the business failure, but she said it didn't."

Harry looked at Daphne, who looked back. Daphne hadn't done anything with her wand after the _muffliato_ charm, so she was sitting there tapping the tip lightly against her finger, keeping her own counsel.

Harry didn't think Daphne meant to curse him, even by accident. Even so, he chose his next words carefully.

"If anyone meant to do us immediate harm, they had their chance on the platform today," he began. "Your friend could have used your system at any time. She wasn't exposed when she used it before. It is possible she feels like talking to you about something with no official or security significance. A little lunch at a public place could fit her needs just fine."

"She's three years older, so she's seventeen now?" Harry asked.

"Must be, unless her birthday is over the summer," answered Iolanthe.

"She could come by herself, depending on how much her parents let her do on her own," said Harry. "You, on the other hand, really ought to be chaperoned, if your mother…"

"Oh, of course I'll go, Harry Potter," Daphne interrupted. "Thank Merlin that hat let you skate out of Slytherin, I swear by my magic I can't name anything or anyone more cutthroat than you, at least not right now. If Severus Snape had tutored you, you'd be a complete monster."

Iolanthe looked back and forth at them from the settee, sporting a stunned look, speechless.

"She probably just wants to see her friend, now that it is summer break, like you said," Harry said, trying to sound soothing. "And Iolanthe, you already know, but I'll tell you again, no one could do a better job of looking out for your safety and security than your mother, plus, she's a great conversationalist. She might come in handy, if you need to break the ice, or anything."

"Now, I think, once you're sure you've got the muggle funds necessary for an excursion to Muggle London, you might want to get there by eleven on Monday, take in the Anglo-Saxons, that gallery is really something, I always feel the magic in that armor, don't you Daphne? They must have been very close to their witches and wizards," Harry said.

"Then once you're done with them, take the stairs down and look at the Rosetta stone, then you're right at the Grand Court and the café. And then…"

"She either shows up, or she doesn't," Iolanthe finished for him.

"And we can get on with our summer!" Harry said. "The Black Picnic, Scorpius' birthday, we haven't taken the twins to see their Great-Grandmother Davis yet, and I'll bet your Grandfather Greengrass would like to get some use out of that apartment in the Faroes. Not to mention Greengrass Lake, then there's The Mill…"

Daphne looked at Iolanthe, studying her face, trying to feel what Iolanthe was feeling. If she'd been asked, Iolanthe would have said she was feeling like beneath the skin she was a chunk of travertine, swirls going around in spirals of spirals of spirals.

Iolanthe's Saturday and Sunday passed in a blizzard of activity, largely of her own making. She spent two hours dueling automata in Harry's dojo before Saturday breakfast, lost herself in _The Odyssey_ , then helped James in the townhouse garden. James was removing everything that didn't fit his vision for the summer design, turning the soil, and planting seeds he'd asked Teddy to pre-stage at #12 Grimmauld Place. James had drawings of each bed, to which he referred while he described the work he wanted done. Iolanthe had never seen James work with such passion and command. James had never known Iolanthe to pick up tools and work beside him to achieve something together.

On Saturday afternoon, Kendra paid a call on the twins. Iolanthe, Kendra and Daphne sat together upstairs in the master bedroom, rocking babies and talking. Kendra thought it might be a good idea for the Potters to come to Greengrass Manor for a few days' stay, soon, so the babies could start getting familiar with their heritage. Iolanthe waited for her mother to observe that the babies were not capable of taking in that kind of information just yet.

Daphne, however, let the opportunity pass. Instead, after noting the twins had been born at Greengrass Manor, in accordance with their heritage, she asked Kendra for her views on the most propitious well-baby charms, and whether there were any special considerations for twins. She listened carefully, dropping in a, "Thanks, I'll definitely try that," here and there. The subject of possible effects of floo system soot on infants' developing respiratory systems arose almost by accident. Kendra did get a semi-commitment from Daphne to keep exploring means of getting the twins over as soon as she could.

Iolanthe left the room for a few minutes, but just once, and discovered the gist of Kendra's conversation with Daphne, in Iolanthe's absence, around eleven-fifteen on Monday morning. They were going from display case to display case, looking at Anglo-Saxon metalwork, admiring the swords and daggers but getting much more enthused over the armlets and great brooches. Iolanthe had made a mental note to scour the gift shop for picture postcards of her favorite pieces, which she could then present to her father to use in commissioning copies from the goblin craftsmen who had made her mother's engagement and wedding rings.

"There you are," said a familiar voice from behind Iolanthe and Daphne. They turned around from the case they had been examining to see Kendra approaching. "Right where you said you'd be! Oooh, look at the hilt on that dagger. How could they think of sticking anything or anybody with that beautiful object?"

"Grandmother," Iolanthe said, in semi-greeting, "Imagine running into you here. What are the odds of that happening?"

"Happening, as in 'just happening?' Why, I'd say the odds are zero, darling," Kendra said. "But I couldn't stay away. Slytherin witches' lunch date? Turn that down? Never. Now, how's it going?"

"All quiet," Daphne said. "It's early. That breastplate is enchanted."

Daphne waved her hand at a case with armor displayed on a pair of mannequins.

"I can't tell what it is, but I can feel it from here," she added.

Kendra's wand was peeking out of her left sleeve. She adjusted it so the knob at the end was in her palm, then half-closed her hand, moving her forearm slowly in front of the glass.

"It feels like a shield charm," Kendra said. "After all these years! Isn't that something? Someone certainly knew what he or she was doing, I'd say."

She looked at the little information card.

"We need to bring Scorpius. These pieces were around when Merlin was, if they've got their dates right," said Kendra. "Perhaps that is a big if."

Iolanthe found herself walking with Kendra, picking out the artifacts they thought might have a connection with witches, assigning numbers for degree of witchiness the item projected. They came to the end of the gallery and Iolanthe looked for more armor, but a sign caught her eye.

"We'd better go see the Greeks," she said. "Auntie Astoria would insist. Maybe Odysseus will show up."

They followed the arrows and found a gallery with some extraordinary marbles. No one occupied the bench in front of one display so they sat down.

"This," Kendra said, "Is full of magic. Can you feel it? Those soldiers are breathing."

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"They're in their armor, just so there is no question. They are ready to defend their city, to the last man, if need be. Challengers are welcome to take their chances."

Iolanthe held Kendra's arm, leaning her cheek against her grandmother's shoulder.

"Three generations," said an approving female voice. Iolanthe turned toward the sound.

A tall woman in a very deep purple dress was sitting next to her. In her hair she wore a finely-wrought tiara, a very simple one that would not have called attention to itself had she been shopping on a high street somewhere. Iolanthe looked at it closely. She thought it was probably silver underneath, with a gilt overlay. She assessed the purple, the jewelry, and the tall woman's bearing.

"You helped my Auntie Astoria," Iolanthe said. "You took her to the mesa to wait for Scorpius and me, so she could tell us about the curse."

Hera just smiled, and nodded.

"Madame," Iolanthe said, standing up. She curtsied before going on.

"My grandmother, Lady Kendra, and my mother, the Healer, Lady Daphne. Ladies, this is Hera, Father Zeus' wife. She…helped…Auntie, with her passage."

"Very astute, dear, your aunt brags about you almost as much as she does her son. She wasn't lying, I'll attest," said Hera.

"Madame," Kendra choked out, "Forgive me, how is she?"

"Astoria is Astoria," Hera said. "She conquers all, no need to worry about her. Now, for your project today, I won't be interfering, of course, but just remember the three of you have assembled an abundance of power here, with all this Davis-Greengrass-Potter magic, so please be careful. My husband's daughter wants these back."

Hera made an encompassing gesture toward the marbles.

"What daddy's little girl wants, daddy's little girl gets," she said, just a little nastily, clearly a bit miffed that her step-daughter absorbed so much of her father's favor.

"Yes, of course, madame," Iolanthe agreed. "Our respects to your husband and his daughter. Our family is in your debt. I am, personally, as well."

"Oh, no dear, that's not how it works. Your aunt did that. Just tell her thank-you once in awhile, that's all you need to do. Well, nice meeting you all."

Hera stood and took two steps toward the marble frieze and disappeared without fuss, bother, or even a little disapparating 'pop.' All that was left was a faint scent, of cedar, or frankincense.

Iolanthe returned to the bench and sat next to Kendra, whose head was on Daphne's shoulder. Kendra was right, Iolanthe thought. She could feel the magic coming out of those marble fighters.

"Grandmother?" said Iolanthe. It came out as a question.

Kendra stood up and waved her left forearm before her face. Iolanthe saw the little knob peeking out of her sleeve a second time. Kendra's tears dried and the puffiness went out of her face.

"Lovely woman," Kendra said. "If I recall, the Rosetta Stone is on the way to the café."

Kendra led the way out of the gallery with the marbles, oriented herself, and set off to get reacquainted with Ramses.


	36. Chapter 36

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Thirty-Six

Another Project for Iolanthe

The witches felt the magic when they crossed the threshold into the first of the Egyptian galleries. Iolanthe saw the great bust of Ramses up ahead before it saw her. She thought it was another museum piece on display until she heard his voice.

"The Greek said you'd be along," she heard.

Ramses' eyes shifted to follow her path between the glass cases.

"I've been here before, and you've never spoken," Iolanthe thought. "Why are you breaking your silence now?"

"Have you considered your ears may not have been capable of hearing?" asked the Great King. "Besides, you should know, it is very poor manners to question me without being invited. You don't want it going around that you are careless about protocol."

"Forgive me, my lord," Iolanthe said, looking down. "Thank you for your divine guidance. Of course I await your instructions."

"Oh," said Ramses, "You're a quick-learning little witch, aren't you? Here's a bit of a secret, just between us—I'm not divine, strictly speaking. Not anymore. I did have the priests enchant this thing though so I could inhabit it after my death. I do like watching the passing parade. I'm not allowed to give you instructions, per se, because the rules say you mortals have to be free to operate without benefit of inside information from museum pieces like me. Just know that we all wish you good luck."

"Iolanthe? Iolanthe Astoria?"

Iolanthe turned to Kendra, then Daphne.

"I'm sorry, was that you?" she asked Kendra.

"It was," Kendra said. "Having a little reverie?"

"Oh," Iolanthe answered, "You noticed. There's such a mixture of sensations in here, I can't sort it out. Voices…"

She looked back at Ramses, but the Great King's stone eyes stared straight ahead, as they had for thousands of years.

Daphne looked at Iolanthe, not saying anything. She did have her first and second fingers and thumb inside the left cuff of her blouse, though, which Iolanthe knew was the usual place she concealed her wand.

"It's getting better," Iolanthe said. "It was just when we came in…"

"Overwhelming," Kendra finished for her. "It can be that, I can attest. Lawrence and I were here once, with some others, and poor Lawrence was really affected. He is very sensitive to magic going on nearby, so he was not at all happy here. I think he swore off these kinds of museums and sticks to art galleries.

"So," Kendra continued, "The Rosetta Stone."

Iolanthe had seen it before but she stood, wooden, looking at the hieroglyphics, the demotic, and the Greek texts. She heard the scribes repeating the words as they carved them into the stone. The sounds were intertwined and confused, but the ideas came through. Iolanthe had not studied _legilimency_ , but she was aware of it, and appreciated its utility for a witch. She let her eyelids droop, and her eyes go out of focus, while she felt the thoughts behind the text.

"Ptolemy V decreed…the leaders of the rebels were impaled on stakes…the soldiers and officers were rewarded by Ptolemy according to rank…"

Of course, the Ptolemies weren't Egyptian at all, not like the Great King Ramses. Foreign usurpers would have to use money and terror to hold their kingdom, wouldn't they? Not like the Great King, who led from his war chariot, letting his soldiers see his divine person in front, showing the way to victory. They followed because he was divine, and their king, and they would not wish to be anyplace else on Earth than exactly where they were, following him.

"Very good, young witch," said Ramses' voice, cutting through the clutter, the crazy-quilted sounds. "You're learning, aren't you? If we are cut, we bleed, if we are clubbed, we fall, but while we live we can always lead, if we believe. Can you do it?"

"Yes," thought Iolanthe, although she had no idea why she thought she could.

"I know you can," said Ramses. "So does the Greek, and her husband. Remember that when the time comes. Inventory your resources, know your troops, and be ready to throw it all in at the moment of crisis. Your cause is just."

"Iolanthe?"

She looked around. It was Daphne this time.

"Mother?"

"Everything alright?"

"Perfect," Iolanthe replied. "Were we going to have pizza?"

Kendra and Daphne exchanged looks.

"Just a healthy teenager keeping her priorities straight," Kendra said, smiling. "It does seem like it's time for lunch. Let's see, what do we have over this way?"

Kendra led the way. They left the Rosetta Stone behind and stepped into a large open space. Iolanthe saw the sign that said 'Bookstore.' She could smell food before she looked around the area and spotted a café to her left.

"I don't think they have pizza here," Daphne said. "I think it is the other way."

"This is it," Iolanthe said. "We need to be over there."

She indicated some tables in a corner of the great room. A skylight with an intricate framing pattern let in sunlight.

"I need to see," Iolanthe said as they found a table. "Let me sit looking that way."

Kendra and Daphne didn't know what to think of this Iolanthe. Theirs was always so deferential.

"What does everyone want?" Daphne asked. "It's easier if I just order for all of us."

"One of those wraps," Iolanthe said, sitting up in her chair, watching the people coming and going. Now and then she would hear something coming in from the galleries that she could decipher. She didn't know most of the languages, although she recognized the Latin and French speakers. She fingered the locket that hung a few inches below her chin.

The food arrived and Iolanthe cut her wrap into smaller pieces, keeping her eyes on the court most of the time. Iolanthe had just popped a chunk in her mouth when she stood up.

"Over here," she called.

Kendra and Daphne looked around and saw a young woman, probably in her late teens, with black hair worn tucked under an emerald green headband, wearing a green blouse, a black skirt, and plain black trainers without any decoration.

The young woman froze for a moment, as if debating whether she wanted to join the group, or just keep going. Iolanthe nodded toward Kendra and Daphne.

"They don't bite," she assured Lissette. "Here, sit down. I just cut this up, so it's not even germ-y. Eat something.

"Mother, Grandmother, this is Lissette Lestrange, another Slytherin witch," Iolanthe began. "This is my mother, Lissette-Daphne Potter, and my grandmother, Kendra Greengrass."

The older witches turned on the graciousness of which they each had vast reservoirs.

"Another Slytherin, how wonderful," Daphne said.

"Oh, I should say so," Kendra added in support. "You've just finished sixth year, Lissette? Did I get that right?"

"Yes, ma'am," Lissette said. She picked up one of Iolanthe's bite-sized pieces of veggie wrap and bit off half. She chewed slowly, her eyelids drooping.

"Mmm-mmm," Lissette said, before popping the remainder in her mouth.

"I skipped breakfast," Lissette said. "These are really good."

She picked up another of Iolanthe's mini-wraps.

"Where did you come from?" Daphne asked. "If I'm not prying…"

"I…," Lissette began.

Daphne knew when someone was finding it difficult to converse. She spent her working hours patiently waiting for people to get around to revealing what was actually bothering them.

"Go ahead and eat, Lissette," Daphne said. "No need to try to talk and eat at the same time. Don't pay any attention to us.

"Iolanthe, what is your cousin getting for his birthday?" Daphne asked.

"From, ahh…" Iolanthe was stumbling now.

"Of course," Daphne said. "I think I know all the others."

"Oh?" Kendra asked, betraying a little surprise.

"According to Father…" Daphne began, before Kendra cut her off.

"The nerve of that man," Kendra said, just a little hot, "His evening just became considerably more difficult."

Iolanthe almost got a giggling fit, watching the two of them go at it. It was a lot more fun than sitting there while her mother called her father a monster.

"Slippers, leather sole, knit uppers," she managed.

"Did you see them?" Kendra asked.

"As of Friday, only one was finished, but there is still plenty of time."

"I had to get out of the house," Lissette said, the words coming out in a rush. "It wasn't safe for me there anymore."

She looked down at the napkin she'd spread out for her pieces from Iolanthe's wrap. Her statement, delivered without any introductory framing, took everyone by surprise. Iolanthe was the first to get her wits back.

"Lissette, I was afraid it was something like that. Do you want to talk about it here, or go for a walk someplace?" Iolanthe asked.

Lissette kept her eyes on the napkin. She put her fingertips to her temples and continued staring down.

"If they find me they'll take me back," she said.

"No they won't," said the other three at once.

Lissette looked around the table. "How..." she started, then stopped.

"Lissette, Mother is a Healer. She works at St. Mungo's," Iolanthe said.

"If you're in danger, or if you have good reason to believe you are, I am obligated to report what I know to the proper authorities," Daphne said.

"That could make it worse," Lissette said. "They have lawyers…"

"Darn this thing, I think it has a little burr on it," Iolanthe said, reaching up for the clasp that closed the chain for her locket. "There."

She brought the two ends of the chain around and pressed the release on the locket, sliding it over in front of Lissette. The open locket sat there while Iolanthe rubbed the clasp with her thumbnail. When she stopped rubbing, she turned and looked at Lissette, then back down at the open locket. Daphne saw a little note in the locket, where normally a photo was placed.

"Do you want to speak to someone official?" the note said.

Lissette continued to look down, head immobile in her fingertips, thinking. Iolanthe clicked the locket closed and put it back on. As she lowered her arms she felt something sharp press into her shoulder. More accurately, she felt some sharp things pressing into her shoulder. Iolanthe turned her head and was face to face with an owl.

"Can they see you?" she thought.

"No," she heard.

"Your stepmother…?" Iolanthe thought.

"Perhaps," said the owl. "Are you ready?"

"If someone thinks they are going to mess with this witch I am," Iolanthe said. "She is now under my protection."

Iolanthe emphasized the MY.

Later she thought through her conversation with Athena and wondered where she'd gotten that slightly excessive bravado. If she were to put anyone under her protection, one would have thought it would have been James, or Rose, or Zelda, even the twins. She decided, eventually, that it didn't matter.

"Oh, fighting spirit," Iolanthe heard. "You know that is ambrosia to me. If you're provoked, don't hold back. No one will blame you for defending those who need defending."

A hulk of a man walked up and stood behind Kendra and Daphne.

"Lissette!" he said, in a voice too loud for the surroundings.

Lissette jerked upright, her face a mask of terror.

"Get out here!" he growled. His face was flushed, and he wore a traveling cape that was much too warm for the early June day. Iolanthe thought from the shimmering air around him that he must have occluded himself from the muggles' sight, but he was fully visible to witches and wizards.

Kendra and Daphne were still just starting to react to the unwelcome presence, when Iolanthe slammed her open hand down on the table, standing up at the same instant.

"NO," Iolanthe said, "YOU will be getting out of here and letting me get on with having lunch with my friend. Begone! You have provoked me enough for one day."

Daphne and Kendra sat, frozen. What witch had possessed Iolanthe? Their sweet magical naturalist couldn't be doing that, could she?

"Why…," the man started, reaching inside his cape, where Iolanthe assumed a wand waited in a sheath sewn just into the left side.

"Enough!" Iolanthe repeated, bringing the disbelieving face back to her from Lissette, just as her headful of platinum hair transformed into a headful of platinum adders, all writhing to and fro, their reptilian eyes, and Iolanthe's, fixed on the intruder's. The man, who didn't even get his wand clear of its sheath, stiffened, then toppled backwards, as if he were a statue someone had pushed off its plinth. Iolanthe stepped around the table. The man still shimmered at his edges, so it seemed to Iolanthe that he remained occluded, in his paralysis. She stopped thinking of snakes. She didn't want to frighten any of the muggles, other than for reasons of operational necessity.

"O Great King?" she thought.

"It's the little sorceress," she heard Ramses say. "Somehow witch just doesn't seem quite grand enough anymore, does it? What can I do for you?"

"He needs to hear the laments of the dead, but softly, while I counsel him. Can you do that?"

"Oh, I thought you were going to ask me something hard," said Ramses, "Right, you can proceed, he hears them now."

The man's eyes said he was conscious and not at all happy listening to the weeping and wailing of sinners from the underworld. Iolanthe stood over him, looking into his streaming eyes.

"You will get up and walk out of here, soon, but Lissette Lestrange is lost to you. She is under my protection now, until I declare otherwise. You are listening to the sounds of your new home, if you ever intrude on us again," Iolanthe concluded. The owl on her shoulder gave her a little more of a squeeze, though not enough for her talons to puncture.

"Bring your lunch, if you want to finish it," Iolanthe said to Lissette. She looked at Daphne and Kendra, her demeanor indicating she was leaving, if they were interested in coming along.

"Happy?" Iolanthe thought, thinking of the owl.

"Ecstatic," was her reply.

"I will not stand by and see witches mistreated," Iolanthe declared. She still felt a little battle heat, so she tried to moderate the emotion. She knew she had to get outside, fast, and cool down, or she risked doing some real damage.

"Got to fly," said the owl. "Whenever you do what is right, you'll carry my spear and shield."

"Give Auntie my love?" Iolanthe thought.

"Of course," the owl said, and Iolanthe felt the pressure released from her shoulder.

"Mother," Iolanthe said as they walked down the stairs at the front of the building. "Do you feel like a walk?"

"I've been craving a walk," Daphne said. "Mother? Islington? Walkies?"

"Do you still refer to yourself as a country bumpkin witch?" Kendra asked.

"Sometimes," Daphne answered.

"I could use a walk," Kendra admitted. "Even if this is concrete underfoot."

The British Museum to #12 Grimmauld Place is a route measured in miles, but Iolanthe used every yard to cool down, and probably could have walked on if she hadn't worn out her escorts. She walked with her chin jutting and her teeth clenched, not saying anything for the first few blocks, everyone giving her some distance, but then she tired of reviewing her little scrape over and over. Eventually she fell in with Kendra, who kept in very good shape rambling around the fields and lanes at Greengrass Manor, and they embarked on a long, disorganized conversation about Anglo-Saxons, brooches, capes, Iolanthe's need to go back to the museum shop and look through those lovely picture postcards of the items on exhibit and see if she couldn't find one with a medieval brooch that she could have the goblins copy. Exhausting Anglo-Saxons, they moved on to marbles, Hera, the ancients, Astoria and _The Odyssey_ , and Iolanthe's dream of someday walking home to Devon from Hogwarts.

Kendra turned around and looked back at Daphne and Lissette, who were involved in some deep conversation, before she raised another issue.

"What are you going to do with Lissette?" Kendra asked. "You declared her under your protection. That is a very old concept, hardly ever used anymore, but as far as I know, it continues to be the law."

"Hmm…tell me about it?" Iolanthe asked.

"As I understand it, powerful people, not always titled, but usually, would protect the weaker members of their communities by declaring them under their protection. Young widows who might be seen by unscrupulous wizards as fair game for exploitation, orphaned children who weren't necessarily blood relations, that sort of thing. There weren't official protective services then. The concept evolved to a formal relationship. Your father can find out the details for you."

"Ah," Iolanthe said. "So I've adopted a Slytherin witch? That's rich."

"Something like that," Kendra said.

Iolanthe turned around to see Daphne and Lissette bringing up the rear, still locked into their one-on-one.

"I'll treat her humanely, see that she finishes her education, and negotiate a good marriage contract for her," Iolanthe said. "It looks like that will be an improvement over whatever was going on at home."

"Iolanthe Astoria, you're aptly named, although, your aunt never declared anyone under her protection," Kendra said. "At least not to my knowledge. That might be a first, for the Potter and Greengrass families."

The blocks flew by. It was a beautiful June day in London, a delight to the eyes, walking through the physical record of two millenia of Londoners' work, imagination and energy.

"This is it," Iolanthe said, turning around and pointing to the stairs that led up to the front door of #12 Grimmauld Place. "Home."

Kreacher opened the door when Daphne's foot touched the top step.

"Welcome home, Lady Daphne, and Lady Kendra, an honor as always, and Miss Iolanthe and friend," said Kreacher. Iolanthe was happy to see he was wearing his tunic, in honor of Monday, or something. She didn't really care what the reason was, it was just a more pleasing look for a well-wrinkled house elf than a threadbare terry sarong.

"Lord Harry, Mistress Tracey and Mistress Victoire are upstairs with young Masters Fabio and Kingsley, and Master James Greengrass and Master Teddy are in the garden."

"Thank-you, Kreacher, that is so kind of you. May I introduce Miss Lissette Lestrange, who will be spending some time with us?" Daphne said. "Lissette, Kreacher manages #12 Grimmauld Place. There is a lot of magic at work here, and you won't learn your way around it overnight. I strongly suggest you accept that and learn a little at a time. Kreacher can be a big help.

"Now, Kreacher, we've just had a wonderful walk so I think we're all ready for some of your iced tea with lemon, if you please?"

"Of course, Madame," Kreacher said, before popping out of sight, presumably to the kitchen.

"Sweetheart, Lissette may want to wash up, can you show her the bath on the third floor, and make sure there is a towel and whatever she needs?" Daphne said to Iolanthe.

"Certainly, Mother," Iolanthe said. "This way."

"Everything's occupied on the second floor, but these are all nice bedrooms," Iolanthe said, becoming something like the #12 Grimmauld Place bell-person.

"I suggest this one," she said, pushing a door open. The room was nice, if a bit plain. No one occupied it full-time, so no one had put a personal touch on anything.

"What did you leave with?" Iolanthe asked.

"This is it," Lissette said, sweeping her hand down in front of herself.

"Mmm-hmm, okay," Iolanthe said. "That needs attention. You can wear some of my things, with an expansion charm, but that won't do you for long. What do you like when you're not in school?"

"Jeans. These trainers. Blouses like this one," Lissette replied.

"Okay, we'll make do until we can shop," Iolanthe said. "Bathroom's this way."

The bathrooms stayed fully set up all the time. Kreacher loved being able to say 'Yes' whenever Harry or Daphne asked if they could accommodate a guest on short notice, so he always took care to have the baths ready to go. Iolanthe showed Lissette where everything was, then left her alone. She pulled her largest pair of jeans and a blouse that fit her loosely from her closet and took them back upstairs. She was thinking they might have to do a little visit to Diagon Alley that afternoon and acquire a barebones kit for Lissette so she at least owned a change of clothes, when Lissette walked in wrapped in her towel.

"Better?" Iolanthe asked.

Lissette just nodded.

"Some things," Iolanthe said, indicating the jeans and blouse. "Feel free to enlarge them, if you need to. If you don't want to do it yourself there are witches around here who are good at that sort of thing."

"Thank-you," Lissette said. "What should I call you?"

"Call me Iolanthe," answered Iolanthe. "I'll get out of here. Take a nap if you want."

Lissette sat down on the bed.

"Oh," she said, "You don't want to…?"

"What?" asked Iolanthe. "What's on your mind?"

"You don't want me to, ahh…" Lissette tried, but ran out of words. Instead, she stood back up, unwrapped the towel, and dropped it on the floor, before lying down and getting comfortable.

"No-o-o-o, that's not what we're here for. I think you misunderstood," Iolanthe said. Another thought occurred to her, unbidden, and very discomfiting.

"Lissette, what were they making you do?"

"Oh, Oh Merlin!" Lissette burst out. "What have I done? I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Iolanthe saw another intervention in her immediate future, just like the one at Hogwarts nearly two years before. Again, she knew she was on the spot and out of her depth, but she couldn't walk away.

"Here," Iolanthe said, holding out her clean jeans and blouse, "Put these on. Forget underneath, just get dressed. The other stuff will work itself out."

Iolanthe turned her back and waited.

"Okay," said Lissette, between sniffles.

"Time for iced tea, come," Iolanthe announced, and went out the door to the stairs.

Teddy and James were planting and generally making a mess in the garden, but they were fully absorbed and probably wouldn't be interested in eavesdropping. Iolanthe took Lissette to the kitchen, poured their iced tea, and went back to the second drawing room and closed the door. Iolanthe was accomplished at quite a few spells and charms, so Harry and Daphne had a rule that she could use her own judgment and cast whatever she needed, inside the house. The wards at #12 were layered. Even though Iolanthe and James had the Trace on them, there wouldn't be any embarrassing letters from the ministry complaining about underage magic over the odd _muffliato_.

"Lissette," Iolanthe began.

"Yes, Miss Iolanthe," Lissette replied.

"You don't have to call me Miss," Iolanthe said. "What has been going on?"

Lissette Lestrange let out a long sigh.

"That man today was my step-father," she said. "My father and mother split up years ago and my mother remarried. Last year they started to go to lectures. Jacques Lafleur lectures, where Jacques sits on a cushion and chants and talks about philosophy and magic and how witches and wizards are all natural-born philosophers, studying with him multiplies one's power, and so on. They really got into it. They went on retreats with others from the lectures, to learn advanced exercises. All of our money, which wasn't a lot, started to go to the organization, one way or another. Then one of the leaders took a fancy to me, and I had to sleep with him when the family went on the retreats.

"He got tired of me pretty quickly. I was a virgin when he picked me out. I didn't know anything, and I was scared, so I just went limp. He didn't like that, so he started looking for someone else and I was back in the pool. Another leader said he'd see what he could do with me, maybe I just needed to learn some techniques. Ugh. Disaster. Then one of the senior women…"

Lissette stopped.

"Upstairs, I thought…"

"Don't think about it," Iolanthe said. "That's already over. Look ahead. We have to figure out what you're going to do next. Did you plan to go to Hogwarts for seventh year?"

"I wanted to, but it might not be safe," Lissette said. "I know you're really powerful, but they're everywhere. They're the ones handing out the flyers on the platforms at the train stations. Besides, I don't have any money now. I don't know what I'm going to do."

The last came out in a bit of a wail.

"We have three months," Iolanthe said. "It will all get sorted. Want to meet the family?"

Without waiting for an answer, Iolanthe took the iced tea glasses and walked out into the hallway. She went down the stairs into the kitchen and put the glasses on the drainboard. Kreacher didn't seem to be nearby so Iolanthe led the way back out into the hall and upstairs.

"Hullo?" Iolanthe called out, knocking on the master bedroom door.

"Come in," Daphne said.

Harry, Daphne, Kendra, Tracey and Victoire were spread around the room. Tracey and Victoire held Fabio and Kingsley.

"Introductions," Iolanthe said. "Everyone, this is Lissette Lestrange, who is a few years ahead of me. She just finished sixth year. Lissette, this is my father, Harry Potter, you know my mother and grandmother, then this is my mother's cousin Tracey Davis, you know Zelda, the Gryffindor keeper, Tracey is Zelda's mother, and this is my cousin Victoire Weasley Lupin."

"Pleased to meet everyone," Lissette said. "Thank you for everything."

"Of course," Harry said. "You're finding your way around our little piece of London okay?"

"So far," Lissette said. "Can I look at the babies?"

"Sure, here, let's get you a rocker and you can hold one. Whose arm is tired?" Daphne asked. She took Fabio from Tracey, who gave up her chair so Lissette could sit.

"This is Fabio Evans," Daphne said, arranging Fabio on Lissette's lap, carefully placing his head in the crook of her arm. "Have you held babies before?"

"Not a lot," Lissette admitted.

"Well, the thing to watch out for is their heads," Daphne said. "They don't have any strength in their necks, so their little heads can flop around and that's not good. If you need to adjust their position, reach around with your other hand and support the head. Other than that, just make him feel secure and stable and he'll sleep until he's hungry."

Lissette adapted quickly to baby holding, putting the tip of her finger in Fabio Evans' tiny hand and feeling his reflexive grip. Things went well at first, until Lissette slowly tipped forward from her waist, her torso arched over little Fabio. Daphne crossed to Lissette and slipped her hands under her baby, extracting him without disturbing his sleep. She handed him off to Harry, who was sitting on the edge of their bed, before turning back to the non-responsive Lissette.

"Maybe everyone could leave us?" Healer Daphne asked, although it was not really a question. "Babies can go to their cradles. Mother, if you'd stay behind…"

Everyone left but Kendra. They got Lissette upright in the chair and Daphne drew her wand.

"There are some hand towels in the bathroom, Mother, if you could soak one in cold water and bring it out," said Daphne, moving her wand over Lissette.

"Just hold it on her forehead," Daphne said, then went silent while she held Lissette's wrist.

"Kreacher," Daphne called.

"Kreacher is here, Mistress," said the elf as he materialized.

"Kreacher, we need a glass of orange juice right away, then you can go back and make a sandwich for Miss Lissette, something with some protein, meat, chicken, sprouts, whatever you have on hand," instructed Daphne.

"Of course, Mistress," Kreacher said before he disappeared.

The orange juice arrived as Daphne was getting Lissette back to consciousness.

"What happened?" Lissette asked.

"A little fainting, I'd say," said Daphne. "Here—sip, don't gulp. What have you been doing since the train, before you met us in the café?"

Lissette started to talk, slowly at first, but getting stronger as she went on.

"Friday night there was a lot of shouting. My parents are followers of Jacques Lafleur. I told them I'd decided it wasn't for me and I wouldn't be going to any more of the activities," Lissette said. She took a moment for some more orange juice.

"There were some slaps. I was to be locked up until it was time to go," she said, then stopped again.

"I kicked my stepfather in the shin and managed to get out of the house. Thank Merlin I passed my apparation test. I took two days and nights getting to London. I didn't come directly. I ate behind those muggle burger restaurants. At night. Like an animal."

Lissette didn't continue, but stared out over the rim of her glass at the floor.

"From the trash."

Kendra made it a statement. She looked at Daphne, her face grim. Lissette just nodded.

"I didn't have a place to go. I didn't want to bring anyone trouble, so I kept moving, slept rough…" said Lissette, clearly not a witch used to those kinds of conditions.

"Lissette, if I'm going to help you, I need you to tell me the truth about a couple of things," Daphne said. She reached over and took Lissette's hand.

"I can't gossip or talk about your business outside this room, without your permission. I'm speaking as a Healer. Do you understand? And my mother," Daphne looked at Kendra. "Well, she could teach me some things about confidentiality, okay?"

Lissette nodded again.

"Do you remember when you had your last period?"

Lissette nodded.

"March," she said. "Second week of March."

"And have you had sexual intercourse between then and now?"

Another nod.

"They took me to a weekend seminar the first and second of April. Lafleur's deputy. Ohh-I'm pregnant, aren't I?"

Daphne caught Kendra's look. It was now beyond grim. It might have been lethal.

"I suspect you are," Daphne said, giving Lissette's hand a squeeze. "I can't do the definitive testing here, but the signs are all present, and the timing is right. The last forty-eight hours' stress, inadequate nourishment, a little fainting episode, early stage pregnancy would fit that quite neatly."

It had all been building up to this point, and Lissette couldn't hold it any longer. She let out a low moan and sank against the back of the rocker, tears pouring down her face.

"Oh, Merlin, Merlin, Merlin, what am I going to do?" she wailed.

"Come over here, dear," Kendra said, taking the hand Daphne wasn't holding. She led Lissette over to the armchair by the window, sat down, and pulled Lissette onto her lap. She sat there, holding Lissette and saying soothing things, for close to half an hour.

"It will all be fine, dear, you're with some competent witches now. How old are you?"

"Seventeen. Almost seventeen. Later this month," Lissette said.

Kendra looked at Daphne, her growing anger showing clearly, while her voice got smoother and softer.

"The people who did this to you are criminals, Lissette," Kendra said. "You didn't do anything wrong, do you understand?"

"But I…," Lissette managed.

"You haven't achieved your majority, so the man who did this raped you. You couldn't consent, because you weren't of age. That is rape. You had no part in it, other than being a young girl who wasn't given a choice. Now you're here, and we will see none of those people can hurt you again. You have nothing to be ashamed of. This was done TO you, it wasn't anything you did. Understand?"

"Please, please…" Lissette's speech began edging toward the inarticulate.

"Lissette, you need to listen to me, carefully," Kendra said. "Can you do that?"

Lissette just nodded.

"You need to finish your sandwich, or as much as you can, and then you need some sleep, and tomorrow we'll all get up fresh and face the day. Right now, no one but the three people in this room know about your condition," Kendra went on. "It is best if we keep it that way for now. I don't think you should discuss this with anyone, including Iolanthe. Don't you agree, Daphne?"

"Yes, Mother," Daphne said. "Lissette, until it's confirmed, Mother is right. Nothing will be gained by spreading this around. Have you been keeping your suspicions to yourself? You didn't tell anyone, including your mother?"

"No," Lissette said. "I didn't know what was wrong, and I can't talk to my mother about any of this. Madame Pomfrey had to explain what was happening when I had my first monthly at school. That was how I met Iolanthe. She found me in the bathroom, no idea what going on. I was a mess. I thought I might be dying. She just took over and got me cleaned up and gave me a pad and walked me straight to the infirmary. Merlin, it's still embarrassing."

"Oh, well, Lissette," Daphne said. "Iolanthe just happened to have a mother who is a Healer and finds all of that anatomical that stuff fascinating. We were talking about it when she was three or four years old. It's all the luck of the draw. Thank Merlin for Poppy. I wonder how many times she's given the Talk about it all?"

Daphne looked at Kendra.

"Beyond counting," Kendra said. "She added a few more this year, I'd wager."

Kendra and Daphne dissolved in laughter. Lissette was a little unsure about how she'd ought to react. Kendra and Daphne were two powerful, accomplished SLYTHERIN witches, by Merlin, trading earthy observations and laughing together like a couple of first-years, only much more sophisticated. She'd never met women like these before. It was intimidating, and exciting, just being in the room with them. She wondered how much she would be able to learn about their world before she had to move along.

Lissette didn't doubt she would have to move along. She didn't have a family with significant enterprises she could join, so she had planned to return to Hogwarts for her seventh year in the expectation that she could try for a job somewhere in the ministry, or do some tutoring. Her only real goal was to get herself out of the situation at home, which she knew was haywire. She also knew that was not a plan, in itself, for getting out and setting up an independent life.

She couldn't expect the Potters to just keep her. What could she do for them? If she had been family, they would have a place for her until she married or was settled in some occupation. Iolanthe had gotten her out of her situation, perhaps saved her life. At least she'd been spared the serious beating her stepfather's face said she had coming. That was more than anyone had done for her before, and it was more than enough. She wouldn't expect the family who had done all that to take her on as a charity case.

"Mother, I'm stepping out for a moment, then I'll be back. It's almost the young Potters' mealtime. Surprised they haven't started objecting already. Just pick them up and give them a little rocky-time if necessary," Daphne said.

It really was a moment. Kendra and Lissette had moved to the rockers and were chatting quietly when Daphne got back. She carried a glass holding three fingers of a green liquid.

"Did you finish the sandwich?" Daphne asked. "Good. This is a mild sleeping draught. I'd like you to get a good night's sleep, after all your adventures. Tomorrow is another day, and you'll want to look at it with fresh eyes."

She handed the glass to Lissette, who took a sip.

"Mmm…they made it taste pretty good," Lissette said. She tipped the glass back and finished it off.

"Good one," Daphne said. "Now off to bed. Do you like to sleep in a nightgown? Here…"

Daphne opened a drawer in a dresser, pulled out one of her own neatly-folded nightgowns, and handed it to Lissette.

"Off you go," Daphne said, opening the door. "Remember the way?"

"Yes, ma'am," Lissette said, as she began climbing the stairs.


	37. Chapter 37

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Under Her Protection

"How can I ever pay you back?" Lissette asked.

Daphne handed her the package from the apothecary's with a, "Go on," and closed the bathroom door.

Lissette found Daphne in her study, Kingsley Davis on one arm and Fabio Evans lying back in a little springy baby lounger.

"Sleep well?" Daphne asked.

"I guess that settles that," Lissette said.

"That's pretty definitive," Daphne agreed. She looked into Lissette's eyes. "Do we need to get you on something so you don't have another scare?"

"You mean, birth control?" Lissette asked.

"Yes," Daphne said, "You're a healthy young woman, you must have feelings, it's too late to think about it once your drive kicks in, so if you haven't done something beforehand, you'll be right where you were yesterday evening. That is not a good use of your time."

"Lady Daphne, I…"

"Just Daphne, or if you must, Healer Daphne, please," Daphne advised her. "We're just a couple of witches talking woman-talk. You started to say?"

"Daphne, I have never had any of those feelings," Lissette said. "Not for anyone, witch, wizard, muggle. I don't understand them at all. I literally do not know what people are talking about when they speak of it. The only reason I let them do those things to me was I didn't want to be slapped around anymore."

A little shudder ran through Lissette.

"Fine. We'll drop it," Daphne said. "If that changes, I want your word you'll come and see me right away. You have some options. Now, tell me about your situation. Do you think the Lafleur crowd will be looking for you?"

"I don't know," Lissette said. "Iolanthe was pretty definite with my stepfather. I think he really should stay away from me. And her. I know I would."

"Me too," Daphne said. "What about your mother? Do you think she wants you back? Will she try to contact you and convince you to come home?"

"She might," Lissette said. "I don't know why. Neither one of them seems to like me very much. He was always rough with me, and she would stand there and not say anything. Afterwards she'd tell me not to provoke him."

Lissette wiped a tear.

"That couldn't have been pleasant," Daphne said. "We don't work that way around here, rest assured. Let's move on. Iolanthe said you wanted to do your seventh year. What kind of qualifications are you interested in?"

"I couldn't really think that through," Lissette said. "Things got more and more chaotic, and when they started to get involved with Jacques Lafleur, I was expected to go to all the lectures, and the retreats, and the people close to Lafleur started passing me around. It was hard to think about lessons with all of that going on. My marks weren't very good this year."

"Well, you've got all summer to think," Daphne said. "We'll have something decided by September."

Something in Daphne's tone told Lissette she was done.

"Daphne?"

"Uh-huh?" Daphne said, shifting Kingsley Davis to his baby lounger.

"What is my, I guess you'd call it status, in the family?"

"What do you mean?" Daphne asked.

"Yesterday, Iolanthe declared me to be under her protection. I think that is some kind of legal term. So, what I was wondering was, am I her slave?" asked Lissette with complete sincerity.

Daphne felt an immediate need to laugh, somehow caught herself, and instead smiled at Lissette.

"It is some kind of legal term, but we aren't sure just what it means," Daphne said. "Harry is getting some information. There are lawyers at the ministry who are experts. We'll find out. I'm pretty sure it won't be too onerous. Besides, Iolanthe is fourteen. I doubt if she has legal standing to undertake the protection of another, in that sense, no matter how skilled she is. You never know, though, with magical law and precedent. We'll just wait and see. Until you're advised otherwise by competent legal authority, don't worry about being anyone's slave."

"Thank-you," Lissette said. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Not right now," Daphne said. "If you want some air, the garden is inside the wards. Otherwise, I recommend you stay inside the house, until we figure out whether you're in danger or not."

Lissette was sitting in the garden, in the midst of James' master plan, when Iolanthe came home. After getting Lissette's assurances that the skirt and blouse she'd been wearing on Monday fit perfectly, Iolanthe had taken them to Madame Malkin's to see about ordering some more in different materials.

Like most witches, Lissette never objected to anything in green or purple, so Iolanthe ordered a blouse and a skirt in each, giving Lissette several options for mixing and matching.

"Two days," Iolanthe said. "That's Wednesday. Then all we need to do is find you some jeans. Where's your wand?"

"I…I'm not sure," Lissette said, making it sound like an admission of guilt. "I reached for it when I was moving around, Friday night, and it wasn't there. I was sure I left the house with it, but I was in a fight, and kind of panicky, so it still could be there."

"No matter," Iolanthe said. "Let me talk to Father, we'll come up with something."

Iolanthe did talk to Harry when he got home, about the wand, and several other things. Lissette needed a wand, for self-defense, but also for all the other wand-waving witches and wizards did. Harry didn't see any need to dance around it. Iolanthe, wittingly or not, had brought Lissette Lestrange in to some kind of position in the Potter family. What that might be was under study, but no purpose would be served by having a wandless witch under foot.

Daphne and James took baby duty while Harry, Iolanthe and Lissette went wand shopping at Ollivander's.

"Where did your wand come from?" Harry asked.

"I'm not sure, Lord Harry," Lissette said. "When I was getting ready for school, as a first-year, my mother handed me a wand and told me to practice _wingardium leviosa_. It was the only spell she taught me that year. Once I got my _Standard Book of Spells_ , I started to get better. You must all think that quite primitive."

"We'll get her some remedial classes in Potter, Father," Iolanthe said, looking off into the distance at nothing in particular.

"Oh, I've said something awful!" Lissette moaned. "I beg your pardon, Lord Harry. I beg your pardon, Miss Iolanthe."

Harry wanted desperately to laugh and get on with wand shopping. Lissette needed reassurance, though. Iolanthe's drollery had cut the shaky ground out from under the traumatized young witch.

"Not at all, not at all, I promise," Harry said. "Iolanthe's humor can run a little dry. You don't know, because you never had a reason to, but I was raised by muggles and came to Hogwarts with no knowledge of magic except the accidental kid magic things I'd done, which I never understood because there wasn't anyone around to explain it to me. However unschooled you were at eleven, I was miles behind you."

"Oh," Lissette said, "You practiced."

"Uh-huh," Harry confirmed, "Lots and lots of practice. And here we are. Let's see what our friend Ollivander's got for us."

"Mr. Potter!" Ollivander greeted them, "And Miss Iolanthe, and who is our friend?"

"Someone who needs a wand, Mr. Ollivander," Harry said, taking Ollivander by the arm and steering him back into his shelves-upon-shelves of wands ready for sale.

Iolanthe kept Lissette occupied near the front desk. The muttering coming from the back sounded like Harry making a diplomatic pitch for confidentiality, in recognition of their companion's stressful situation.

"Well, Miss Lissette," Ollivander said, putting ten or twelve wand boxes down on his desk. "We have here some examples of different woods and cores, a variety of lengths and suppleness. We'll narrow down the candidates until we settle on one or two promising combinations, then explore the fine differences within that range. So, let me open a few boxes…and, if you would, just pass your hand over these. Does anything give you a warm, confident feeling? All about the same? Let's try a few more…"

Harry thought back to when he was trying wands the first time. He'd ended up with the holly wand/phoenix tail feather core that had saved his life more times than he could remember. Ollivander's sales pitch hadn't seemed so refined and professional then, at least in Harry's memory.

Something caught Lissette's attention, and she held her hand still over one of the open boxes. Her eyes closed and she inhaled, long and deep through her nose, as if she were smelling the chill morning air in a cedar grove when the early sun warmed the trees, and freed the scents.

"This one…" she said, "May I?"

"Yes, please do," Ollivander said. "How does it feel in your hand? Do you like the balance? The texture of the handle section should be pleasing to your touch, not too rough or smooth."

Ollivander laid a small cube of crystal on the desk in front of Lissette.

"Can you move it? Try to move it from its position to the blotter. Good. Bring it back? Good. See if it will lock my door for you. The command is just 'Lock.' Try it."

Lissette reached for the door handle and gave it a try. The door was locked.

"Can you unlock it? I might lose a customer," Ollivander said.

Lissette unlocked the door using the wand.

Ollivander stood behind his desk appraising Lissette.

"Does it feel like your wand?"

"It does."

"How do you know?" Ollivander asked.

"It feels like it belongs in my hand," Lissette said, not sure exactly what she meant by that. She hoped Ollivander wouldn't be asking for further explanations.

"The wood is osage orange, from America," Ollivander said. "A very interesting wood. It was, at one time, planted widely for hedgerows. Once cured, it is almost impossible to work, it becomes so hard. That wand won't give you a whippy feel. It can't. The core is unicorn hair. Those do not like to be turned to dark magic. The core is safe inside the wand, thus it is confident it has the freedom to choose its own affinities. Do you understand the direction this wand will want to take when you bring it into your life? Defend the good, and your wand will be very powerful. Pursue vice or use it in the mistreatment of others, and you may find yourself defenseless. You aren't buying a wand so much as accepting a way of life. It is something like taking a vow."

"Have you chosen me?" Lissette asked, nearly whispering as she held the wand in front of her.

"What's it saying?" Iolanthe asked.

"It sounds like 'Yes' to me," Lissette answered.

"Done," Harry said. "Congratulations. And, Mr. Ollivander, if you can work up a bill, I'll take it tonight or you can send it by the house."

"I'll send it along, Mr. Potter, there's no rush," Ollivander said. While he was talking he was assembling a little group of wand care items—a soft cloth, a small dropper vial of lemon oil, a parchment leaflet with the simple banner saying 'Caring for Your New Wand.' When he had everything together he put the assortment in a little drawstring bag and pulled on the cords, then handed the bag to Lissette.

"Everything you need for wand care is in there, except the respect that lives between you and your wand. I can't give you that, but you can cultivate it and keep it healthy. May I?" said Ollivander as he held out his hand for the wand.

Mr. Ollivander took a soft cloth from beneath the counter, along with a small jar of the type ointments come in. He touched the cloth to whatever was in the jar and rubbed it over the wand, taking his time and covering the entire surface.

"Beeswax," Ollivander said. "Take out your cloth at home and give the wand a good polishing. The beeswax seals the pores and any surface crackling. After a month, and several applications of the cloth, you can add a drop or two, but no more, of the lemon oil. Bring it back anytime and I'll look it over. I reserve the right on those occasions to comment on the owner's wand care practices. I won't need to with you, though, will I?"

"No, Mr. Ollivander," said Lissette.

"How do you carry your wand on your person?" Ollivander asked.

"In my sleeve," said Lissette.

Ollivander reached under his counter and placed a kind of gauntlet with two leather rings on the counter.

"The rings have a little charm. If the sleeve is a little too loose to keep the wand secure, wear this under the shirt or blouse and the wand will be there when you need it," Ollivander said. "With the compliments of the firm. Other than that, all you need do is practice, practice, practice. Good luck with your new wand."

"Yes, sir, thank-you, sir," said Lissette.

Harry didn't offer to take the girls to the Leaky Cauldron or any of the other businesses along Diagon Alley, because he didn't want to be seen by more people than necessary. They still had to gauge the reaction of the Lafleur organization to the loss, or what they would call apostasy, of a former adherent. From what he had heard of Iolanthe's actions at the museum, he thought Lissette would be safe from her mother and stepfather. In any event she would be seventeen in less than a month and attain her majority. Then she could do whatever adult things she wished, subject to the restrictions of the magical criminal code.

When Lissette's birthday came around, Rose and Iolanthe organized a small birthday party for her at The Mill. The few elders in attendance stayed under the arbor, pestering fruit plate after fruit plate and keeping an eye on the approaches to the site. They really didn't think the students needed chaperoning, and they didn't think Lissette's relatives or the Jacques Lafleur crowd would mount a raid, but one never knew.

The students gave Lissette practical little gifts, since she had left everything behind when she fled her deteriorating home life. Scorpius gave her a little pen knife for cutting quills that Astoria had used. Lissette got a bit weepy when she read the note he tucked in the box with the knife.

"Lissette—"

The note said,

"My late mother used this at her desk in our home. It has a self-sharpening charm, so it is always ready to trim a quill. Use it throughout a long life filled with good health, and good times."

Rose hadn't had the time to knit anything for Lissette. Instead, she brought some of Molly's chocolate syrup for the Greengrass elves' profiterole, which was the sweet of the day, rather than a cake. It wasn't a wild party, by any means. The longest-lasting activity was standing on the edge of the mill pond feeding dried crickets to the trout and telling stories about the great Slytherin witch Astoria Greengrass Malfoy.

The activity wound down and those who had to leave, left. Iolanthe surveyed the scene. The elves had finished the cleanup, The Mill was secure, the fairies had made everyone's acquaintance and gone back to their fairy business. Harry, Iolanthe and Lissette were the only ones left. Iolanthe gathered up her gifts and stood waiting for Iolanthe to indicate what was next.

"How do you want to go back?" Harry asked. "I'm partial to walking back to the manor, since we've got this wonderful June evening, giving it a quick check, then taking the floo straight back to #12. As always, you may feel differently."

"I'm with you, Father," Iolanthe said.

Lissette just nodded at Iolanthe, a practice that showed signs of becoming a habit.

The group got to the house and took a look around the perimeter. Lissette got her first look down the valley to the Dart from the Potter Manor patio and was forced to stop dead still and look at the vista.

"Gosh," she managed to say.

Two deer, one with antlers, one without, were standing in some alfalfa, perhaps a quarter-mile downslope. The deer stood still, looking up at the new Potter Manor and the people standing about.

"Where did you live, when you weren't at Hogwarts, Lissette?" Harry asked.

"Not far from Alnmouth, in the north," Lissette said, adding, "It's a nice little river, the Aln."

"I agree, although I've not seen a lot of it," Harry said. "You like our view of the Dart, I see."

"And your gardens," Lissette said. "You must have some busy elves."

"Oh, yes," Iolanthe said, "Along with some fanatical humans."

"This way," Harry said, "Or we'll never get home."

He touched his wand to the door that led inside from the patio, and the door rewarded him with a click and a swing inward. Sconces lit as the little party walked through the rooms to the salon, winking out as they passed.

"This is very unusual art, for a wizard's house," Lissette remarked. "Oh, I'm sorry, please don't take offense. It's wonderful. I just haven't seen anything like it before."

"No offense taken, I assure you," Harry said. "Iolanthe's great-uncle is a painter, and considered highly-collectible. He also teaches, in America. Daphne and Kendra picked this all out before the house was complete, then it was shipped here and Uncle Lawrence made the trip to hang all the pieces. It was a huge deal for the Potters and Davis's both."

"And here's the salon, and our ride home," Iolanthe said. "Got everything? We'll come back but I don't know when."

Lissette nodded and patted herself down.

"I think so," she said.

"Grimmauld Place," said Harry as he dropped his floo powder.

Greetings and congratulations took a few minutes, but very few. The young people were ready to retire, after the fresh air and party activities. Daphne waited until everyone had gone up to bed, then invited Harry to come to the study for tea.

"This came," Daphne said. "Messenger. I assured him he was welcome to stay and keep it in his custody but he said it wasn't that kind of communication."

Harry looked at the large brown envelope. He didn't see anything unusual. He felt the envelope all over, trying to sense whether it had anything inside that ought not to be opened outside of controlled conditions. It felt like a fairly thick bunch of papers made up the entire contents. Harry laid the envelope on the hearth and touched the flap with his wand tip, casting a silent opening charm. The flap opened, but nothing else happened. Harry assessed it was safe to remove the papers.

"Oh," Harry said, then stopped.

"Ahem?" Daphne added.

"Oh, sorry, it's the legal background on Iolanthe's escapade. Cover memo. Which says,"

Harry read while Daphne racked her brain for a speed-reading hex she could cast. There had to be at least one.

"Short version," Harry said, handing the stack of paper to Daphne, "Iolanthe derives the right to extend the protection of her household to anyone she chooses by virtue of her noble birth, regardless of her own age at the time. She commits to raising her own troops to defend her castle without bothering the Crown. That is her obligation to her protectees. Their obligation, as long as they freely accept the protection, is to make themselves useful members of Iolanthe's household, be loyal, and lead pious lives so their prayers for their benefactor will find favor in Heaven."

"Oh," Daphne said. "That is lovely. And quaint. To think I have been a witch since the day I was born and I knew nothing of this. That Iolanthe. She must have gotten it from you, since I was completely unaware."

"Now," Harry said, "Iolanthe. She took the time to pull me aside and tell me today, just for clarity's sake, that she does not think I am a monster. She suspects you do not think so, either, but were exercising a little hyperbole. I told her I was not so sure about that, but that one way or the other, we were still in love and would be staying together."

"You did well, Potter. Your rhetorical skills have not deteriorated," Daphne said. "Was our biggest little reassured by your jibber-jabber?"

"She is very smart, and I doubt if jibber-jabber is of any use these days. Still, she remains calm, like the eye of the hurricane, in the midst of all the…" which Harry finished with a wave of his hand indicating the edifice and its contents that surrounded them.

"I have been thinking over what you said," Harry went on. "You may be closer to right about me than I'd like me to be. I promise to do some reflection."

"Do you think you're a monster," Daphne asked, "Because I assure you I don't. I should have made it clear at the earliest opportunity. I apologize for not doing so. It is possible, on occasion, for me to react negatively when anything looks like it could endanger the children. I know you would never do so intentionally, but you seemed happy to let Iolanthe take the lead on going to meet Lissette, and we didn't have any way of knowing what that entailed. I have some experience with Potter adventures, you may recall."

"Don't apologize," Harry said. "Certain characteristics of a monster may manifest in me, from time to time. I have inadequate brakes on my enthusiasms, relying on others for that when it is my responsibility. Threats to you and the family generate lethal thoughts in me. I probably have all the mental maladies deriving from withholding love and attention from youngsters ages two to eleven. I admit, I expect you were not too far off base. I hope it isn't too late for Iolanthe."

"Me too," Daphne said. "She looks like she's okay. Did anyone bother to tell you, in the midst of all the confusion, what she did to Lissette's stepfather?"

Harry shook his head No.

"He found us in the café and demanded Lissette leave us and come with him, and Iolanthe ordered him to depart, and he reached for his wand. Before he even got it out, she'd transformed her scalp into a mass of adders. It had the effect of a _petrificus totalis_ , and he went down. Then she stood over him and advised him to keep clear of Lissette because she was under Iolanthe's protection, and then something about what he was hearing would be the sound of his new home if he came around again."

"Oh," Harry said, "Where is the new home?"

"I asked her that, and all she'd say was 'Hell.'

Harry pondered what Daphne had told him.

"So she can transform into a Medusa, more or less?"

"Yes, Harry Potter, your daughter can do that at will," Daphne said, adding, "In the British Museum, of course."

Harry thought a little more.

"And she can bring up the sounds of the souls in Perdition and make a paralyzed man listen to them?"

"That's what she said," confirmed Daphne, "And I have no reason to disbelieve her, having seen that man's face as she stood over him advising him to stay away."

"That's not REALLY a monster, though, is it?" Harry argued. "She uses her power for good, doesn't she?"

"For now, at least, it looks like it," Daphne agreed.

"The hat put her in Slytherin," Harry said as he pinched his lower lip and let his eyes lose focus, "So it had to have had its reasons. Turning our young magical creature specialist into a monster would not have been among them, not for the sorting hat I know."

"Your logic is as twisted as ever, Potter," Daphne said. "Circular. Self-justifying. Rationalizations."

"Good points, all," Harry said. "Food for thought. I don't mind if you called me a monster, really. Even if it was in front of Iolanthe. It might help her recognize a boundary when she's approaching, before she crosses it. Should I talk to her about it?"

That was something Daphne hadn't considered. It really was a surprisingly good idea, and it startled her to think she had not come up with it first. Harry had a shockingly good handle on certain of the spots that could generate a deadly force response in him, and a classic childhood experience at the root of his abnormal psychology. Simply put, Harry had his family ripped away from him when he was a toddler, learned on his own to keep a few close friends as a surrogate family, then discovered Daphne and actually had the good fortune to raise a family of their own. The little boy down inside still hungered for the family he'd lost, and could be expected to go overboard defending the one he had made with his wife.

"It bears watching," Daphne thought to herself. "Just be sure you're there when he needs a second opinion."

"Harry, you know, that might be a very good idea," Daphne said. "She seems to have enormous power and a fertile imagination. Just one suggestion—avoid making it sound like 'Do as I say, not as I do.'"

"When have I ever…Want to check babies?" Harry started to go down a dangerous grade, before braking and turning back at the last possible moment.

"Harry Potter," Daphne said, standing up and pulling Harry to her. "Don't you beat all?"

The following day, Harry used one of a variety of morning routines he had developed to avoid setting a pattern, rising and showering, then going straight to his office near the ministry to read the overnight reports plus whatever the analysts had produced for senior officials' edification. He checked his calendar and saw he was scheduled for a lunch at the ministry, then a couple of meetings back in his own building. Then he had a clear calendar until 'Eve: Dinner-Ron/Her'

Was that tonight? Drat! Normally Harry enjoyed having a meal with the Granger-Weasleys, but for some reason the combination of the mysterious gossip campaign, the unexpected emergence of Jacques Lafleur, and the new addition at home weighed on his mind. Well, maybe a night with Ron and Hermione was what he needed to get his mind out of its self-centered rut.

Reading done, Harry took the floo system back to #12 Grimmauld Place for breakfast. It was dry, mild and June, so Harry wasn't surprised to find the townhouse garden occupied by much of the Potter household. Tracey and Zelda were spending most of their time running around meeting with clients or back at the Black estate putting the final touches on the Black Picnic plans. Ginny and Millicent were absent, and Harry thought he remembered some talk about a seminar at Beauxbatons for faculty of the schools of witchcraft and wizardry. Harry had to admit, there was something very attractive right then about taking a few days' sojourn in France.

Harry saw a big platter of scrambled eggs, toasted muffins and sliced tomatoes in the center of the table. He found an empty chair and sat down.

"James, did you grow these?" asked Harry, spearing a tomato slice.

"Mmm-mmm," said James, working a mouthful of breakfast around in his mouth. "Grandfather."

"It seems early," Harry said. "Isn't it?"

"He starts them in the sunny room and puts them outside at sixty days. If it is too cold at night he has some cones to put over them," James explained.

"Magical?" Harry asked.

"The tomatoes?" James asked.

Harry looked at the chunk of tomato on his fork.

"Is there such a thing?"

James looked at his father.

"I don't think so," he said.

Harry put the tomato in his mouth.

"The cones have a warming charm. He's been doing it for years," Daphne said. "It keeps the tomato plants from getting frosted overnight."

James looked at Daphne.

"James is thinking something disparaging, Mother," Iolanthe announced. "I, personally, think it is spoilsport."

Harry looked at James, whose face did, actually, look like it wanted to say Spoilsport.

"Coffee?" Daphne asked, holding up the carafe.

"What is on for today?" Harry asked.

"Granger-Weasleys this evening," said Daphne.

"Yeah, I saw that on the calendar at the office," Harry said. "What time are we due over there?"

"We aren't, actually," Daphne said.

"They're coming here? Really?" Harry said. "Well, fine. I had us going over there, for some reason."

Another thought occurred to Harry.

"What are we having?"

"Lots of vegetables," James said, spooning scrambled eggs onto a toasted muffin, topping the eggs with tomato, and putting the top slice of muffin on everything else. James picked up his egg and tomato sandwich on muffin and kept the architecturally-challenged concoction together with a deft arrangement of fingers and thumbs. Harry looked on with genuine admiration.

"Mm-hm," he said in approval, nodding at James.

"James Greengrass," Iolanthe asked, as innocently as could be, "Can you fly and eat that at the same time?"

"Miss Iolanthe, don't you dare," Daphne said, her voice low and growling.

"I have the morning free," Harry announced, hoping the prospect of a full weekday morning of Dad availability would stimulate imaginations so he would not have to look at the spectacle of James levitating and eating a crumbling egg-and-tomato sandwich. A look at James said Harry was not a sufficient diversion.

"Where are the picnic plans? It's not far off. Maybe we should take a look at the Black place. What do you think?" Harry looked at Daphne, who looked back but really wanted to stare down Iolanthe to let off the pressure of her own displeasure.

"The food is all set, the same as last year. The fishing has been good, and Tracey was told to tell us not to worry. James and Teddy have the exterior in a breathtakingly beautiful condition, according to the gentleman eating the sandwich. The interior has been scrubbed and polished. A marquee has been arranged, should the portents favor rain, although Lady Kendra's runes are convinced we have three days of dry weather bracketing Black Picnic," Daphne reported.

"Three June days in Cornwall with no rain?" Harry said. "My compliments to the rune-caster."

"Father," said Iolanthe, dropping out of her James-tormenting tone, "Can I show Lissette your dojo?"

"Sure," Harry said. "Do you want to duel? Fight the mannequins? Do pushups?"

"All of it, eventually," Iolanthe said. "Lissette has a new wand to get used to."

Daphne looked at Harry, her face a neutral mask. Harry looked down at his plate. He was nearly finished anyway, and lunch at the ministry would mean serious overeating. He took a last swallow of coffee.

"Let's go," he said. "James?"

"No," James said, getting up and pulling a weed from a bed.

"Please?" Harry asked.

"Okay," said James, leading the way back into the house.

"Kreacher!" Harry called as they walked down the hall.

"Kreacher is here, Master," said the elf as he materialized in front of the group.

"I think Mistress Daphne would like the table cleared, then…" Harry said, the last to an empty space where Kreacher had been a fraction of a second before.

"Someday I'll learn," Harry observed.

"So here is our home gym," Harry said. "We take our shoes off out here. Then we bow when we enter. That is the shrine over there. Then we decide what we're going to do. We need one mannequin for some dueling," Harry announced to whatever was behind the gym's intelligence.

Harry's eyes changed. He shifted his weight out over the balls of his feet, and he drew his wand.

"Cast to stun," he said, leaving his class unsure who he was talking to. A mannequin materialized and bowed toward Harry, who bowed back. The attack was wickedly fast and the red bolt was on its way so quickly it did not look like Harry would be able to block or dodge. He did both, it turned out, developing his own attack from the finish of his blocking move. The block and counter-attack would have put away the average witch or wizard without a proper fight developing at all, but the mannequins were adept at matching or exceeding human reflexes, so the exchange went on for a while, enough to get Harry a shiny face. The match ended when both fighters got through the other's defense at the same time, and both were sent flying backward, before getting up and bowing once more.

"James?"

James bowed to Harry, who returned his bow, then to the mannequin, who did the same. He took the first dueling position and the mannequin cast, James blocked, then cast, then block-cast-block-cast, until he blocked all but one bit of a mannequin cast, which hit his left arm, numbing it. James' balance was off after that, and he got in a few more good shots at the mannequin but was clearly done. Harry called the match, congratulated James, and asked for Iolanthe to step up.

The ritual continued. Iolanthe was a good duelist, a little ahead of James right then, which was understandable given the age difference. She got better as she warmed up and Harry had to declare her match a draw, so Lissette could get some time in.

"The only thing different from what you did at Hogwarts is the mannequins don't get tired," Harry told her. "This one will cast to stun. You're to block and send something back. Stunning spells, or _expeliarmus_ , if you want the practice.

Lissette and the mannequin bowed and the match commenced. Lissette had fairly good form. In fact, Harry thought he could see Millicent Bulstrode coaching at work in her movements. Lissette was well-drilled, but her stamina was that of a student who would have moved for twenty or thirty minutes, maximum, in the course of a lesson. Ten minutes with the dueling mannequin turned her movements wooden, and fifteen left her defenseless. That would improve with regular practice. Lissette didn't have a lot of other things competing for her time or attention, so Harry made a mental note to speak to Iolanthe in private and encourage her to bring Lissette up to duel regularly, or every day they were at #12 if Lissette would go along with it.

Harry left for lunch and his afternoon meetings. He read and listened carefully for any mention of Lissette, her family or the Lafleur movement, but found only silence on those subjects. He asked for ten minutes of Kingsley's time to brief him on Monday's events and a little of the legal ramifications of Iolanthe's escapade, and an offer of resignation if Kingsley thought the Potters had embarrassed his administration.

"Your young witch invoked recognized law and saved a damsel? And you think you ought to resign?" Kingsley asked.

"Not just any witch," Harry answered. "Her Slytherin housemate. Walburga Black's portrait assures me that Iolanthe has saved wizarding royalty."

"I never thought the day would come," said Kingsley, "when I would agree with Walburga Black. No, Harry, I won't accept your offer of resignation."

Dinner with the Granger-Weasleys was highly informal. Tracey and Zelda made it back from wherever they'd been negotiating or planning or ordering food and beverages. Zelda's school record for consecutive saves by a keeper had established her as a quidditch prodigy. She was disappointed to find Ginny wouldn't be at dinner, but she settled for quidditch talk with Harry and Ron, who hadn't been bad at quidditch, for school boys.

Iolanthe had introduced Rose and Lissette at The Mill. Rose had had even less contact with Lissette at school than Iolanthe had. They hadn't really touched on the reasons Lissette was with the Potters, other than she'd been spending a few days with her housemate. Iolanthe pulled Rose and Lissette into the unoccupied garden to address Lissette's continued presence. Iolanthe stopped the backstory at "Things weren't going well at home, so…"

Lissette wouldn't look at either one of them.

"Go ahead and tell her," she said to Iolanthe. "I know you two don't have secrets."

Iolanthe looked at Lissette. Lissette nodded for her to keep going.

"Lissette's family got involved with the Jacques Lafleur crowd. Some of the men in the Lafleur organization took advantage of her," Iolanthe said.

"And one of the women," Lissette said. Something about saying it out loud liberated Lissette from the shame she had felt, that somehow she had allowed what happened. She stood up straight and looked Rose in the eye.

"Yes, they did," she concluded.

"Oh, Lissette," Rose said, reaching out. Lissette wasn't used to hugs, that was apparent. She held herself stiffly. She didn't resist, but she didn't hug back. Rose thought it was a start.

"What now?" Rose asked, sticking her nose into where it really didn't belong.

Lissette was silent, but she looked at Iolanthe as if expecting her to carry on the briefing.

"Well, we're working on that," Iolanthe said. "A lot will depend on whether it looks like it would be safe for Lissette at Hogwarts in the fall."

"With this bunch behind you?" Rose asked, tilting her head toward the house. Iolanthe started and Rose was dragged along. It took awhile for them to return to coherence. Lissette looked like she was the one who had missed the punchline of a joke.

"Harry Potter? Hermione Granger? Millicent Bulstrode? Neville Longbottom? You have heard of them?" Rose asked.

Lissette blushed. "Yes," was all she said.

"That's okay, it takes some getting used to, I'll admit," Rose said, "And we grew up in it."

"You're doing fine, Lissette," Iolanthe assured her. "It's a learning curve. How's the wand?"

"Oh, wonderful," said Lissette. "It feels like it really wants to be with me. Is that possible?"

"It is if you feel that way about it," Rose assured her. "If you want to get your ear bent for a couple of hours, ask Ronald Weasley a wand question. Just be certain you don't have anything else you need to do right away. It will all be good information, from an emerging authority, but it's kind of like getting swept away by a current. Prepare to relax, keep your lungs filled, and try to float until you are washed up someplace."

"What?" said a voice from the doorway. Ron stood on the step holding a glass of mineral water with two lemon wedges.

"Wands," Rose said. "Lissette was telling us about her new wand, and I mentioned you have some interests in that field."

"To some extent, yes," Ron said. "Right now, though, I think we're expected to come in and start dinner."

No one planned it, but the overflow that went back to the garden comprised Iolanthe, Rose, Zelda and Lissette.

"Perfect!" Iolanthe observed, looking around and assessing her companions. She looked at Rose.

"Ready for the Black Picnic?" she asked. Rose understood that to be code for, "Did you finish his slippers?"

"Yes," Rose said, smiling, "And the remaining hours are getting longer and longer."

"Did Tracey say anything about tomorrow, Zelda? I think Mother had in mind a trip to see Great-grandmother. You're welcome to come, too, Rose, if she decides to go."

"Mum didn't say," Zelda replied. "I'm in though."

"What about soot?" Rose asked.

"She'll draw on her Healer training and mask the darlings," Iolanthe said. "We'll take you, of course, Lissette."

It was a statement, to which Lissette nodded her agreement.

Daphne assigned Harry the task of engaging Iolanthe in a discussion of her obligations as Lissette's protector. They'd had one short, confidential conversation, and both knew they needed more. Iolanthe, of course, had not been thinking of coming home with a protectee when she had gone to the museum with her mother on Monday. Events just got a little out of control, and that wasn't unknown around the Potters. They'd cope. Meanwhile, Lissette was obliged to make herself useful in her protector's household. This presented a problem as Iolanthe's household was by definition a dependency of the greater Potter-Black establishment, which was well-supplied with all the conveniences of magical life, first and foremost the presence of Kreacher. There was very little left for a retainer to do.

Iolanthe found herself racking her brain for tasks she could assign to Lissette. A family outing to see Great-grandmother Davis would be perfect. There were all kinds of things Lissette could do to be helpful. She held Fabio Evans' little carrying cradle when the party floo'd to Davis Manor, collected traveling cloaks to hand off to the house elf and refilled tea cups.

Lissette had no experience with a family like the Potters. Physical contact in Lissette's home was something one avoided, since it consisted mainly of painful grabbing of the upper arm or a slap to the face, both usually accompanied by some shouted abuse. The Potters were different. Iolanthe and Daphne pulled their rockers close together, rested babies in the crook of their outside arms and held hands across the middle. Iolanthe was nearly an adult and Daphne still called her "Darling" more often than "Iolanthe." After forty-eight hours with the Potters Lissette resolved to treat every minute as an opportunity to learn, until they informed her it was time she moved along.

It was a beautiful June day, so it was decided that Great-grandmother Davis could benefit from some of the fresh air and sunshine. Kendra stood on one side of her mother, encouraging Lissette with a head motion to come on over.

"Mother just needs one of us on each side to pace her, Lissette. You'll take that side, I'll take this…and up!"

The old lady stood up, quickly. In fact, it took longer for her to straighten up to her full height than it took her to get to her feet. It was a nice, long walk to the patio, at Great-grandmother Davis speed, plenty of time for a relaxing chat with Lissette.

"You're a Slytherin, dear?" Madame Davis asked.

"Yes, ma'am," Lissette replied.

"Wonderful, you'll go far, then. I had my doubts about that Potter Iolanthe's mother married when there weren't any suitable Slytherin men left, but he seems to have found steady work, at least, although it must be low on the ladder because you never can get him to say what he actually _does_. He doesn't drink up his pay, either, if you can believe Daphne, so at least that is a plus. Have you been at #12 Grimmauld Place, then?"

"Yes ma'am," said Lissette.

"That used to be the most prestigious address in magical London. I wish you could have seen it in its heyday. I went to so many parties there when I was a child, and a young witch. Walburga was in Slytherin with me, if you didn't know. Walburga Black was a genius at entertaining, and decorating, too. Have you been in the mistress' study?"

"Yes ma'am," Lissette repeated.

Iolanthe and Rose were using _wingardium leviosa_ , together, to move Madame Davis' wing chair outside. They both knew they shouldn't, but they looked across the chair to share the moment and had to put the chair down until their self-control returned.

Madame Davis free-associated the full length of her progress to the patio, trailing her chair, two chair-bearers, then Tracey and Daphne carrying the newest great-grandsons. Kendra kept Zelda close to the front with her, because she and Madame Davis had some special rapport that allowed Zelda to respond appropriately to Madame's most tangential questions and comments.

Lissette focused on her job of being a sort of outrider opposite Kendra, a bit of guidance ready to lend a steadying forearm if Madame got a little disoriented.

Kendra and Daphne got everyone in place around Madame Davis on the patio. Daphne and Tracey removed the swaddling the young lads had worn for soot protection in the floos. Daphne introduced them as Evans and Davis, since Madame Davis knew both Fabio and Kingsley. Kendra pointed out the confusion the names might cause the old lady, so Daphne stuck to the middle names. Madame Davis took her time holding both, letting her long-disused mothering charms bubble to the surface, letting the babies grip her fingertip, assuring them they had just the strongest hands, and dispensing blessings and forehead kisses without end.

Tracey, the party planner, had drawn on her party planner resources and brought a magical camera. She made some discreet changes to the arrangement of people and chairs and sized up the party, then she checked the camera settings before levitating it in front of the group, letting the camera take a series of photos.

"One of them…" Tracey said as she retrieved the camera.

"…ought to turn out," said Iolanthe, Rose and Zelda together.

Madame Davis called for tea for everyone, and the house elves were ready to oblige. Zelda sat next to Madame the entire time. Madame was partial to Zelda, as everyone knew. It wasn't a problem because the others were partial to her as well.

Zelda liked nothing better, after flying, than to sit next to her great-grandmother, holding her hand, and providing one-half of an unguided conversation.

"And you will be a second-year in September, didn't I hear?" Madame Davis asked.

"Yes, Great-grandmother, I will," Zelda said.

"And you play quidditch?"

"I was the keeper last year," Zelda confirmed.

Madame Davis knew all about Zelda's quidditch exploits, of course. She had read the quidditch column in the Daily Prophet obsessively throughout the season. A copy of Zelda's school record certificate resided in a frame on the table next to Madame's chair, so her guests could enjoy it just as much as she did.

"Can you go a little easier on Slytherin this season?" Madame semi-teased.

"No, Great-grandmother, I have to be merciless, until we put the game away," Zelda told her, obviously relishing the thought.

"Oh, that's fine, then, Zelda," said Madame, "That is your Slytherin heritage coming out."

Zelda smiled. She did descend from a line of Slytherins, on both sides, no arguing that. Zelda held Madame's hand, fascinated by the boniness, and veininess, of the back, and giving it gentle back-and-forth thumb strokes. That hand had held her grandfather. It had probably changed Tracey's nappies. Zelda thought of the years represented by those two hands. She knew Madame was handing something on to her, although she couldn't have said what that was.

Before long, it was time to begin the long procession back to the fireplace so Madame could have her lunch and nap. Evans and Kingsley went back into their wraps, Lissette and Kendra brought Madame Davis to her dining table and emplaced her in the chair with the arms. The good-bye kisses started with Kendra and continued by descending order of seniority. Zelda and Iolanthe hugged and kissed Madame together, by custom whose origin was unclear, getting the usual tears flowing. Rose stepped up, knelt and kissed Madame's hand, before thanking her for the fabulous tea party. Madam touched Rose's cheek with a 'Bless you, dear.'

Lissette didn't know her place in the farewell rituals so she stood aside, intending to follow Iolanthe to the salon, and the fireplace. To her surprise, Madame Davis reached out and flexed her fingers in a 'Come here' gesture. Lissette leaned down, careful not to bump the fragile matriarch. She felt Madame's hand press her back, bringing her closer.

Madame spoke, just for Lissette—

"Don't worry, dear, it's going to be fine. You're under her protection."


	38. Chapter 38

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Black Picnic

Harry took leave at the end of the month rather than face running back and forth between London and Cornwall. It was much easier to relocate the immediate family to the Black estate than to try to keep multiple schedules in multiple locations.

Tracey and Zelda's occupation of the house had done wonders for it. Periwinkle ceded some of her duties to Melon, who had become very attached to Zelda. That left Periwinkle free to focus on Potter Manor, where the family loved spending holidays and weekends, whenever their London lives would permit.

Tracey and Melon, with some participation from Periwinkle, applied their hands, magic, soft cloths, beeswax and lemon oil to the old Black mansion on a regular basis, working their way through the house, top to bottom. The portraits looked on and supplied the necessary positive feedback. It wasn't long before the interior was restored to something like Black-era glory.

The week before Black Picnic, James took Daphne to meet Tracey at the estate, to do a walk-through while there was still time for adjustments. They didn't expect to have a lot of people inside, but Tracey wanted Daphne to see everything they'd done lately. Daphne was beyond impressed, and kept marveling at "…what a little love and care can accomplish."

"You are in for a surprise, Lord Black," Daphne said that night when they were alone. "Your Cornish seat has been restored. You could almost say transformed."

"Good to know," Harry replied, lost in an article in Witch Weekly.

"You would rather read Witch Weekly than talk to me?"

"Oh," Harry said, "I found this on your bedside table. This is a very informative article about how your wizard can please you, as you deserve, if he will just make the effort to completely change the way he has done literally everything his whole life long."

"THAT article?" Daphne said. "Read on, Harry, don't let me interrupt."

Harry laid the magazine down.

"I was just killing time until you proclaimed 'Nox' so let me give this back," said Harry as he leaned over to toss the Witch Weekly back on the side table. "Then you can tell me all about Cornwall."

"Well, it isn't that important, I just wanted to say having Tracey living there has made a huge difference. She and the elves have everything scrubbed and polished. They do a few things every day. Tracey likes to keep the little maintenance chores caught up, too, so all the loose screws are tight, the door hinges are functioning, the lamps have oil. You know, an actual operational house."

"That's what I was hoping for," Harry said. "I don't know about you. It seemed to me we'd always go out there and clean it up for an event, but it still felt like a rental hall. Now you're saying it's Tracey and Zelda's home."

"So astute," Daphne said, "Where did I try out my ideas before I had you?"

"The grounds look good?" Harry asked.

"Spectacular," Daphne said. "I understand that is all Teddy and James. Father looked over their plan last fall, but they wouldn't let him do anything. They treated his garden elves to some work days, but that's it."

"Can't wait to see it," Harry summed up, before burrowing his head in his pillow.

The family, minus Kreacher, relocated to Cornwall at mid-week. Iolanthe was astonished at the state of the gardens. Teddy and James had blooming annuals ready to transplant from their greenhouses as soon as the weather warmed up, so marigolds, zinnias, geraniums and begonias were in riotous color against the green backdrop of bananas and elephant ears.

Iolanthe, no stranger to excesses of enthusiasm, grabbed James' upper arm and steered him from bed to bed, demanding identifications of all the plants she didn't recognize, following James' explanations with a running commentary of compliments. Lissette trailed behind, fascinated by Iolanthe's patter and James' reciprocal devotion to his sister. Her former life bore no resemblance to Harry and Daphne's brood. She reached under the cuff of her blouse and touched the wand Harry and Iolanthe had gotten her. 'This is all really happening,' the wand seemed to say.

The tour of the garden ended with a return to the house and thorough exploration of all the rooms. The house had a tower room at one corner, up a short flight of stairs from the adjacent hallway, giving it a delicious air of isolation. There were two beds, so Iolanthe claimed it for the Black Picnic holiday on the grounds that she and Lissette would be most efficiently housed there, leaving the other, single rooms for people who really needed single rooms. It made no sense, logically, but Iolanthe called it first so everyone acquiesced.

Iolanthe invited Lissette to accompany her on a familiarization tour, starting in the tower room.

"Ah, Melon brought our bags up," Iolanthe noticed. "Melon!"

"Miss Iolanthe, what can Melon do for you?" asked the little elf as she popped into existence in the tower room.

"You didn't get a chance to meet Miss Lissette formally, so Melon, this is Miss Lissette, Lissette, please allow me to present Melon. Melon has come to us from the Malfoy family, where she served my Aunt Astoria for several years. She has been with us since last summer."

"Will Miss Lissette be staying with Miss Iolanthe?" asked Melon.

"Yes, probably the whole summer," Iolanthe answered. "Consider her family while she is with us."

"Of course, Miss Iolanthe," said Melon.

Lissette felt sniffles coming, but it passed.

"So," Iolanthe said, turning to Lissette, "That's our room. Melon, can you arrange our clothes and other things somehow, between that little armoire and the dresser? There are four drawers, two each ought to be enough. Tell me if you run out of room, but I don't think you will.

"Let's explore," Iolanthe said, "I hear Tracey has been busy."

Iolanthe led the way through the upstairs rooms, introducing Lissette to the portraits, not getting into the reasons Lissette had joined the Potter household, other than she was Iolanthe's Slytherin sister. Distinguished Blacks welcomed her graciously to their home, several of them giving her conversational openings to reveal any Black ancestry, but Lissette let it go.

"Do you have any Blacks in your family tree?" Iolanthe asked at one point.

"Well, I don't know anything about my Lestrange family tree on my father's side, because he doesn't have a lot to do with my mother these days. I can't remember my mother talking about any Black relatives," Lissette said.

"Okay," said Iolanthe. "Father is the head of the clan. He brought Tracey and Zelda in, with Phineas Nigellas Black's encouragement. The late headmaster felt they were too valuable to let them slip from our grasp. A sentiment with which I fully agree, lest there be any doubt. There may be a way."

"On that subject," Lissette said, "Who will be coming to the picnic, and why?"

The explanation went on throughout the tour, it was that long and convoluted. Harry was the accidental Lord Black, because Sirius Black had died before he married and had children. As Sirius' heir, Harry had gotten the title of Lord Black, along with two principal assets: #12 Grimmauld Place and the ancient Black estate in Cornwall. Harry and Daphne had redecorated #12 and updated a few things. Iolanthe was born at Greengrass Manor, but came home to #12 shortly afterwards. It was her first home, and most of her early memories were from there. Harry had gotten busy on the new Potter Manor shortly after marrying Daphne. He wanted the new one to put a proper Potter family seat back there to replace the one Voldemort had destroyed in his fury at James and Lily for refusing to join his movement. The symbolism was important, but the new home was also a gift to Daphne, who got to design it and put anything she wanted into it.

Harry had thought over what to do to bring back some Black solidarity, so the family wasn't reduced to a memory and a meaningless title that got passed down. When Iolanthe was born, at the beginning of December, followed at the end of June by Scorpius, the traditions of Black Christmas and Black Picnic were established. The birthdays were the immediate cause for the celebrations. Harry and Daphne took the idea further, though, and linked the birthday parties to the seasons, initiating a family reunion around each one.

The first Black Christmas and Black Picnic were modest affairs. Two things happened over a period of years that turned them into the major events they had become. One, Harry and Daphne made an effort to find Black cousins, who they invited to come and socialize with the family, and, Two, the affairs became so much fun the cousins began blocking out their schedules to accommodate the celebrations months in advance.

Now, of course, a group of cousins from Harry and Daphne's generation had emerged and stayed in touch simply because somewhere along the line they were all Blacks. Meeting twice a year at Black social events led naturally to networking and joint projects, some of a business nature. Those reinforced the attraction of attending Black Picnic and Christmas. One never knew when some useful enterprise would emerge from a conversation over grilled fish or pasties.

Iolanthe went on, describing the things Harry did in addition to throwing parties. A portion of the estate's income went to the support of the first-year Blacks, because Harry had been raised as a poor relation and couldn't abide seeing Blacks disadvantaged because of money. He wrote letters of recommendation for Black jobseekers. Blacks wanting to pursue advanced studies after completing basic courses at Hogwarts or one of the other recognized schools of witchcraft and wizardry could submit an abstract of their projected studies, the cost estimate per year, and a short statement outlining why they wanted to do it, and Harry never turned them down, except on grounds of explicit silliness.

"Extraordinarily generous, the exemplar of _noblesse oblige_ , at least among contemporary wizards," said a portrait of a distinguished-looking elderly gentleman.

"Headmaster, may I have the honor to present my Slytherin sister, Lissette Lestrange? Lissette, this is Phineas Nigellus Black, late headmaster of Hogwarts, and perhaps our most distinguished Black scholar," Iolanthe said in her most honey-like tones, that she had lifted directly from Daphne's playbook.

"Although about to be supplanted by your cousin Scorpius. Delighted, Miss Lestrange," said Phineas Nigellas. "Come often and stay long."

"The honor is mine," Lissette answered, with a little nod.

"Tracey really has made a difference," Iolanthe said. "A year ago this was a quaint, delightful old barn. We'd come for weekends or one of the parties, then we'd leave. Tracey and Zelda moved in and just doing the usual cleaning and small repairs has turned it into something really special."

"It is special," Lissette said. "The portraits take some getting used to."

"I don't have any direct knowledge, you understand," Iolanthe replied, "But I've been told the ones in rooms occupied by couples are sworn to discretion."

Lissette looked at Iolanthe and decided she wasn't joking.

"Those're the main points, then," Iolanthe said when they'd gotten back to the ground floor. "Now we do something constructive for a couple of days, then there is a lovely picnic to kick off summer and recognize our precious Scorpius' birthday. Then we unwind with a couple of restful days here in Cornwall."

Lissette nodded.

"Nice," she said. Something lurked in her tone, Iolanthe was convinced.

"Did you have a follow-up?"

Lissette didn't answer right away.

"I don't know quite how to put it," she said. "Why are you doing all of this for me? You barely know me."

"Oh, I know enough," Iolanthe said. "Someone needed help. I had the ability to help her. What else is there?"

Lissette was silent.

"Want to check on the babies?" Iolanthe asked.

Lissette had yet to demur when Iolanthe asked if she'd like to do something. The babies were in the nursery attached to the ground floor master bedroom, supervised by Daphne, Tracey, Zelda and Periwinkle. Fabio Evans and Kingsley Davis, at a little over four months, were still primarily occupied with eating, getting changed, and going to sleep. They did like receiving guests, though, and seemed to have a mysterious psychic connection with Iolanthe similar to that of Zelda with her Great-grandmother Greengrass.

"All—" Iolanthe greeted the room. "And the newest Potters! What a surprise!"

Evans and Davis kicked their feet and made baby sounds when Iolanthe stood over them.

"Such handsome young men!"

Kicks and goo-goos.

"So smart!"

Goos, kicks, and more goos. A thirty-minute conversation ensued. Not all of it included the twins, but some did.

"The house is exquisite, thanks to the Davis's," Iolanthe said.

"We had to have something to work with," Tracey observed.

"It was a barn, now it's not," countered Iolanthe. "Anyone need a walk?"

"Me," Zelda said.

Tracey and Daphne elected to stay with the Honorable Twins.

"Dinner at five? Please?" Daphne asked, nicely.

"Of course, Mother," Iolanthe said, leaning down to kiss Daphne's cheek, Zelda following her leader's guidance with a kiss to Tracey's cheek.

Iolanthe led everyone out through the gardens.

"Try not to step on any snakes, hmm?" she requested. At the stone wall, Iolanthe turned to her party.

"Over the wall is a path, and in a little way it connects with a lane. The lane runs straight for a mile, more or less, then it intersects with another lane that goes right and left, but there is no straight ahead. Left loops and we are back in around three miles, right is between five or six.

"Who wants three?" Iolanthe asked. "Five?"

Three won, to Iolanthe's disappointment.

They walked single file along the path. Iolanthe assigned Zelda to take the lead, to make sure the party did not inadvertently walk off and leave the shortest-legged of the companions.

"Ever been to Cornwall?" Iolanthe asked Lissette.

"I don't think so," Lissette said. "If I was here, I expect I was very young at the time."

"It's nice in the summer," said Iolanthe. "All the water moderates the summer heat. Lots of seacoast, so lots of coves, and the coves have villages. Mother and Father and Tracey used to take us all to the village on market days. We haven't done it so much lately with Aunt Astoria being ill and Mother pregnant with twins. Has Tracey taken you since you moved out here?"

"A few times," Zelda said. "There is a pharmacy, run by a witch, and she has all the medicinal plants, dried, fresh, whatever you want. Did you know that?"

"Don't think I did," Iolanthe answered. "Here is the lane. We'll take the short loop, so straight to the crossroad, then left."

Iolanthe stepped up the pace once they took to the lane, moderated with proper attention to keeping Zelda close at hand, and the conversation nearly ceased, subsumed in the rhythm of the hike. Iolanthe called a halt after an hour.

"This is about half-way. The wall makes a nice bench for sitting in the shade of that oak tree. I propose we take five minutes," she said.

No one objected, so they left the lane and sat in the shade.

"What classes did you sign up for, Lissette?" Zelda asked.

"Defense, Charms, Potions," Lissette said. "I can add one more but I didn't know what I wanted when it was time to turn in the parchment. What about you?"

"Defense, of course," Zelda said. "Potions, Herbology, History of Magic, second year Flying."

"No Care of Magical Creatures?" Iolanthe asked. Two bowtruckles, one on Iolanthe's shoulder and one halfway out of a patch pocket, appraised Zelda with some skepticism.

"No time," Zelda said. "I wanted to, but I didn't have the space in my schedule."

Two deer walked up to the stone wall opposite and stood there, looking at the three women. The smaller one shifted its weight to its hind legs and leapt the wall. It crossed the lane slowly. No one spoke. The deer stopped a few feet away from the three, twitching its tail and ears.

"Well, come on," Iolanthe said, in English, since she didn't speak deer. "We're harmless."

The deer took a tentative step forward, paused, and took another. Before long its long jaw bones were getting a good scratching from Iolanthe. Much too soon, in Iolanthe's estimation, the larger deer, who had stayed on the other side of the stone wall opposite theirs, gave a call, or perhaps it was a snort. The smaller deer spun and crossed the lane in two strides, leapt the wall and bounded away with her companion.

"Those are voices," Lissette said, looking up and down the lane. "Men. Sit still. I'll occlude us. Don't speak."

Lissette was right, for two men soon came strolling up the lane. They were dressed in jeans and plaid shirts in muggle patterns. Neither had a firearm, but Iolanthe made them for hunters out surveying the population they'd be trying to thin in the fall.

"Two hare?" one said.

"And the two deer," his partner answered.

"I'd like a venison pasty about now," said the first.

One of the men left the lane and stepped over to the stone wall opposite. He stood with his back to the lane and unzipped. His companion looked off in the distance. Zelda really wanted to say 'Ewwwww' it was plain, but Iolanthe reached up and around and put her hand over Zelda's mouth.

"When do you get your boat?"

"I got her," said the man by the wall, looking around and talking over his shoulder. "I still have to bring her over, if you want to crew."

Business taken care of, the two returned to the lane and continued on their way. Only when their voices faded did Lissette wave her wand and remove their occlusion.

"Well," Iolanthe said. "I think I've been vaccinated for muggles."

"That will do it," Lissette agreed.

"What is Second Year Flying, anyway?" Iolanthe asked.

"It's a tutorial with Madame Hooch," Zelda said. "It's for students who will need to fly professionally. Using advanced techniques safely. The class isn't an option. I was spotted."

Iolanthe and Lissette just looked at Zelda.

"What?" Zelda asked.

Iolanthe was having so much fun walking and chatting up Zelda she let the pace drop and the three ended up finishing their walk at a casual stroll.

"Some muggles were walking on that lane to the west," Iolanthe told Daphne when they went inside. "Lissette heard them coming and put a very serious occlusion charm over us. We just sat there and waited until they walked on."

"Well, thank-you, Lissette. That's really the best thing to do in a situation like that. How did your wand feel in your hand?" Daphne asked.

"It might sound funny, but I'd say it felt happy to be of service," Lissette said.

"Yes, thank-you," Iolanthe said. "We should have told you before. I don't think that sounds funny. It sounds to me like you share a connection."

Daphne and Tracey nodded agreement. Harry returned from some business in London just in time for dinner. The Potters, Davis's and their guest, Lissette, filled plates inside and took them out to the arbor. The evening was long and the air was mild, and the conversation went on until full dark.

The morning of Black Picnic was clear, as the runes had predicted. Harry and Iolanthe went out to the gardens to speak parseltongue together, using the usual excuse of the need to warn the snakes the semi-annual plague of human feet was about to commence. Harry got the conversation around to monsters, how he recognized he might have some monster attributes if his emotional buttons were pushed in the right sequence. Iolanthe told Harry she took Daphne's view that Harry was a real monster only when he thought something threatened his family, and she didn't mind. Harry apologized, in advance, if he had passed along a monster gene to Iolanthe, and promised to always lend a sympathetic ear if she needed to let off pressure she felt might be pushing her toward monsterdom.

"Father, you'd tell me if you noticed anything, wouldn't you?" Iolanthe asked. "Well in advance?"

"Certainly," Harry said.

"And have you?"

"Ahh…I only heard, second-hand from your mother," Harry began, "But your performance at the museum café…"

"Oh, Father," Iolanthe said, somehow keeping herself from tut-tutting, "That is barely more than a parlor trick."

The first guest to arrive was Rose Granger-Weasley, followed in quick succession by Teddy and Victoire Lupin, along with Andromeda Tonks. Scorpius was the guest of honor, and of course was interested in maximizing his time with Rose on his birthday, so he came early, bringing Narcissa Malfoy well before the official noon starting time.

Daphne and Tracey took the twins out to the shade of the arbor. They were in little cradles made from shoots of elder, woven by local craftsmen, and lined with thick quilted pads. Daphne had ordered the cradles to fit four-to-six-month-olds, specifically for the summer season in the country. Daphne hoped to get Evans and Davis plenty of fresh morning air so they would be ready for a nice, restful nap upstairs when the picnic began in earnest. Narcissa and Andromeda found their way to the arbor and the talk turned, probably inevitably, to Astoria and past Black Picnics, when she had brought her own unique perspectives and humor to their discussions.

Harry had been watching the elves' progress while also keeping an eye on Scorpius. When he judged the elves were just about finished filling the trenchers with the bowls and platters that held the picnic lunch, Harry walked up to Scorpius and tapped his arm.

"Got a moment?" Harry asked.

"Of course, Uncle Harry," Scorpius answered, suddenly going formal.

"I'd like to recognize your birthday, then turn the welcoming over to you. You're the next generation. How would you like to take over some family leadership responsibilities?" Harry asked.

"Thank you, I'd like that," Scorpius said.

"Great," Harry said, "Collect your thoughts."

Harry kept his head moving between the food and Daphne. When he felt the time was right, Harry caught Scorpius' eye and gave him a nod. They met just inside the shade of the arbor and Harry began to address the gathered picnickers.

To no result. Tracey stood up, found a substantial goblet among the tableware, and gave it a few good raps with the back of a knife. Silence descended on the Black Picnic, according to long-observed custom.

"Thank-you, Tracey," Harry said, cuing a short round of applause.

"Here we are again, getting together, on or about Scorpius' birthday, at the Black estate in Cornwall. Scorpius has some words of welcome, so let me get out of the way and turn it over to our distinguished Black cousin, Scorpius Malfoy."

Scorpius acquitted himself well, everyone agreed later. He thanked the assembled for everything done for him and Draco since Astoria's death, singling out Iolanthe and Rose but mentioning the Black cousins at Hogwarts as well. Then he thanked everyone for coming and for all the birthday wishes, before declaring the picnic officially commenced.

The cheering was more than perfunctory, a very positive sign. Draco had arrived just in time to see Scorpius deliver his remarks. The normally quiet-to-the-point of taciturnity Narcissa looked like she would literally burst with pride.

Tracey had arranged for a good supply of blankets to be used for ground cloths. Teddy and Victoire spread one out along the border of one of James' flower beds and were soon joined by most of the younger people in attendance. Scorpius carried two plates for himself and Rose, while Rose brought tumblers of lemonade. Iolanthe was trailed by James and Hugo, who were followed by Lissette, who carried two more blankets.

Most of the Hogwarts Black cousins gravitated to the other young people, bringing lawn chairs or more blankets. Iolanthe was interrogated on two subjects, primarily—Lissette and her two new brothers. The brothers were simply perfect, and would probably make an appearance if they didn't sleep through the afternoon. Lissette was a Slytherin friend from the north who was spending a few weeks over the summer, sightseeing in London and visiting Devon and Cornwall.

Rose asked Melon for something she could use to collect Scorpius' birthday presents. Melon snapped her fingers and materialized a straw bag. Rose and Zelda put the pile in the bag, finishing it off with a parcel wrapped in green tissue paper that Rose pulled out of her own purse. Zelda had seen the slippers when they were works-in-progress and gave Rose the co-conspirator look.

Harry thought the farewells began much too soon, but understood people had lives to get back to. He collected Draco, Scorpius, Teddy, Iolanthe and James and walked through the house, greeting the portraits and toasting the Black family. As usual, the longest stop was with Phineas Nigellus Black. The former headmaster, who was known to harbor very mixed feelings about the utility of young people, as a general proposition, expressed sincere appreciation for Scorpius' visit.

"Word is circulating, young man," Phineas Nigellus said. "My late colleague Binns says we have a historian on our hands."

"Thank-you, Headmaster," Scorpius replied. "I am the heir to a rich family history of scholarship."

"He's an example for us all, young Draco," Phineas Nigellas gushed. "We didn't see his kind very often, during my career."

Teddy put his hand on Scorpius' shoulder and gave him a wink.

"The Headmaster said it, so take it as authoritative," advised Teddy.

That was the highlight of the tour of the house. Many of the portrait witches and wizards were partial to a nap in the afternoon, followed by an hour or two of wakefulness before going off to their regular night's sleep. The party paid their respects and toasted the last of the portraits.

"Is that that, then?" Harry asked when he convened the group in front of the fireplace. Periwinkle arrived with an empty tray for the glasses.

"Hullo, all," Daphne called out as she entered. A baby yowl descended from upstairs.

"Oh, now you're awake and want a meal," Daphne said. "Harry, maybe you could wrangle a baby?"

Daphne turned and headed for the stairs, leaving the others to their own pursuits. Harry and Daphne got to their room and entered. Daphne closed the door behind them. Harry looked around and saw Lissette sitting in one of the rockers, holding an infant.

"Lissette, you're doing much better than I do at that," Harry said, nodding to the baby. "I meet with a lot of rejection."

Not sure what a polite return would consist of, for such an observation, Lissette contented herself with a, "Thank-you."

"Have a seat, Harry," Daphne said, waving at an empty chair. She picked up a baby and a little blanket and took the other rocker.

"Go ahead, Lissette," Daphne said, arranging baby, blanket and her own anatomy. "You won't affect anything by telling your story."

"Oh, well, then," Lissette began. "There was a woman at the picnic who is involved in the Jacques Lafleur organization. She's one of his close associates. I'd see her at the meetings."

"Oh," said Harry, "Who was it?"

"She had on a purple dress and hat, very summery," Lissette said. "Lots of eye makeup. Inside the organization she goes by Iris, but I'm pretty sure that is a pseudonym."

Harry felt a chill. He thought about the guests who had just been leaving over the past two hours. He could only think of one who fit Lissette's description—his deputy, Fiona.

"She came with one of the cousins, I'll think of his name if you give me a few minutes," Harry said. "Did you chat her up?"

Lissette looked at Daphne. Something passed between them.

"Harry," said Daphne, "There is some background you're missing. Lissette was mistreated at home. She was forced to accompany her mother and stepfather when they attended the Lafleur events. The people close to the leader take advantage of the followers. That happened to Lissette."

Daphne stopped and looked at Lissette, as if asking permission to stop there. Lissette found her voice.

"I didn't talk to Iris because she was one of them," Lissette said.

"A Lafleur follower," Harry said, more or less a statement.

"No, Harry," Daphne said, "Those people abused Lissette. It was before her last birthday. She was underage. Sixteen."

Harry looked back and forth, unable to formulate thoughts. His first impulse was rage, as always when his own fragmented memories of childhood traumas were triggered.

"What did they do to you?" Harry asked, some of the former auror emerging. "I'm sorry, can you even talk about it? If you don't want to go into it, I understand."

Lissette shrugged.

"I was expected to do what they wanted," she said. "My mother and stepfather are more or less under Lafleur's control. My stepfather was physical with me. He and my mother coerced me to go to the Lafleur events, even after I decided I didn't want anything to do with the Lafleur crowd.

"The first man who took me to bed didn't ask me, he arranged it with them. Then he gave me to another of the leaders. The men didn't think I was worth the trouble, so Iris said she'd take me on and see what she could do."

"Got it. Did she see you here today?" Harry asked.

"I don't think so," Lissette said. "As soon as I saw her I came inside and found Daphne, and I stayed up here after that."

"Good," Harry said, "That's for the best, until we figure out next steps.

"Lissette, believe me when I say I am so disgusted that anyone would use their position, in any kind of organization, to mistreat young people. I will do something about this. It might not always be apparent, but it will get done."

He thought about his heightened interest in the Lafleur movement, how he'd been looking out for mention of it in the reports in his daily reading folders, and how nothing had been showing up. Harry had taken that to mean the Lafleur organization was one of those splinter groups that always seemed to be forming and dissolving among wizards. A leader, maybe one with some charisma, or ordinary sales skills, started jabbering about some wrinkle in magical practice that caught a few peoples' interest. They rented a hall, gave a talk, tried building something out of nothing. Most of them lasted five or ten years before sinking back into the footnotes of magical history.

This was different. Lafleur and his crowd were getting mothers to surrender their daughters for exploitation. That needed correcting. It was also clear the Lafleur movement had been very good at both minding its internal security and infiltrating or placing agents in at least one key position in a critical ministry department. Worse, Harry was going in blind. He suspected Fiona, who saw his reading files before he did, had been keeping him uninformed by pulling the reports on the Lafleur movement before they got to him.

If Fiona reported to Lafleur, there was a high probability she had agents reporting to her from lower levels of Harry's department. If a Lafleur devotee was reporting directly to someone in the directorate of Harry's department, the same could be true of the aurors. The Head Auror himself could be a follower, although Harry doubted whether Ralph Mann would fall for the Lafleur cosmography, at least as far as he understood it. Still, Ralph could have Lafleur subordinates feeding him edited reading. He could also be under the influence of a close family member, a fairly common phenomenon. Harry knew he needed a good night's sleep, and a clear head. One misstep would be too many. It could also be his last. The Lafleur people were running a classic cult. They wouldn't go without putting up a fight.

"Harry?"

Daphne's voice brought him out of his reverie.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Is there anything you want us to do?"

Harry looked between Daphne and Lissette, then he got up.

"Not right now," he said, "Let me look into it first."

The Potter family, plus Lissette, spent the night at the Black estate, along with Tracey and Zelda. Harry tried to get Teddy, Victoire and Andromeda to stay, assuring them there was plenty of room, but Andromeda was very partial to her home, and Teddy liked to be nearby in case she needed anything.

Harry spent much of the night thinking through his problem. Every time he resolved to put it out of his mind and go to sleep, some detail elbowed its way into his consciousness and demanded he move it to the top of the list for consideration. Morning came early. It was the first of July, after all. Feeling like he was six or seven hours short of the sleep he'd need to feel his best, Harry took a little extra time with his face in the shower spray, willing the spray to freshen up his mind for the day ahead.

Harry followed Daphne upstairs after breakfast. He gave her an outline of the situation Lissette had presented, from the perspective of the department head's chair.

"If one of my assistants is a follower of Lafleur, she has divided loyalty. Lafleur and the organization haven't been showing up in my reading files. In fact, they've become conspicuous by their absence. Fiona has the final look at the file before it comes to me," Harry said.

"Which could explain the lack of reports," Daphne finished for him.

"Excellent," Harry said. "If Fiona has had the opportunity to chop off on personnel decisions…"

"The people below her could be reporting to her, and not to you, making difficulties for anyone trying to discover the extent of the compromise," Daphne concluded.

"Excellent again," Harry said. "This is getting boring."

"So what are you going to do?" Daphne asked.

Harry sat in the rocker, with Evans, watching Daphne rocking Davis. He didn't say anything right away—he just sat there looking at the two of them.

"I'm going to stop talking right here," Harry said. He looked Daphne in the eye. "This is where I have to try to keep you and the family out of the loop."

Daphne looked at Harry, her mask of neutrality fixed in place.

"This is where I get very nervous, Harry," Daphne said. "Every time. Do what you have to do. Just come back."


	39. Chapter 39

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Thirty-Nine

The Cautery

Harry kissed Daphne, then Evans and Davis. He stood, hands on hips, looking nowhere in particular while he collected his thoughts. When he spoke, it was to say, "Just say I needed to floo over to Grimmauld Place for something, but you don't know what it was. I could come back at any time."

Harry turned and stepped into the master bedroom fireplace, the only one on the second floor. He made sure Daphne heard the floo direction, "Grimmauld Place."

Once back in London, Harry changed clothes and floo'd to Potter Manor. He'd built the place with an owlery. There wasn't an explanation really, although Harry had a huge soft spot for owls. He liked the way they looked, but the real reason was his first animal of any kind was Hedwig, the snowy owl Hagrid gave him for his birthday when he was eleven. They weren't just close, Hedwig had been killed while trying to screen Harry from a curse. That kind of devotion merits a memorial, thus the Potter Manor Owlery and the Black Owls he funded so that Hogwarts Blacks would always be able to stay in touch with family and friends.

Harry lit the lamps in the little library/gallery everyone seemed to have a hard time defining, but used for a multitude of purposes. He put a quill, a bottle of ink, and a box of some smaller dimension, note-size parchment on the desk and began to write. He wrote nothing about the Lafleur group or his suspicions. He just asked a few people he trusted to drop by The Mill for tea, and a sandwich when mealtime rolled around. When his owls were sent on their way, Harry secured the manor and took a walk.

He'd always liked the walk from the house to The Mill. Ever since Fabio had taken Harry and Draco to meet the fairies on his first visit, Harry had always liked the experience of walking the lane, through the bit of woods, and coming out in the clearing. He stopped at the wooden bench beside the millstone and sat down. It wasn't long and the little points of light began drifting down from the trees and rising up from the floor of the clearing.

"Hullo, Harry," said the fairies' voice. "Welcome to The Mill."

"I'm very happy to be here, as always," Harry said. "How are the fairies today?"

"The fairies are as always," said the collective voice.

Harry appreciated hearing that. He appreciated it very much, in fact. The fairies were a constant in his world of shadows, threats, appearances of threats that really weren't there, illusion, active measures, feints, jabs and the knockout blow that could land without warning if the least opening were allowed. The fairies, according to Kendra, were part of the same creation as the Earth, and would be there until the end. The End. That was solid. That was something that held still so he could study it.

"Some friends are going to come by and visit," Harry told the fairies. "I suppose I should wait for them over there."

"Go ahead, Harry," said the voice that spoke for the fairies. "The fairies will be here."

Harry got up and walked on to The Mill, opened the door to let the interior air out, and sat on the bench beside the door. He thought, while he waited, of the Potters' experience with the old building, the site that Iolanthe Peverell brought to her marriage into the Potter family. Harry and Daphne had worked, mostly with Winky, to spruce up the old building as a retreat, and the place seemed to have a knack for figuring in significant family events, including, it was suspected, the conceptions of both Iolanthe and Scorpius. Fabio maintained the magic came up out of the Earth here, like a spring. Harry could not find a flaw in that reasoning. He hoped the magic didn't fail him over the next few days.

"WHOOSH!"

A flash of green light escaped through the open door and danced on the packed dirt of the dooryard as Blaise Zabini stepped outside.

"Harry!"

"Good to see you, Blaise," Harry said. "How is the consulting business? Before you start, coffee? Tea? Butterbeer? Something else?"

"Tea, please," said Blaise.

"Sure," Harry agreed, "Let's make it a pot. Winky!"

The elf appeared under the arbor.

"Lord Harry! Master Blaise! How good to see you. Where is Miss Zelda?" asked Winky.

"Miss Zelda is with Mistress Tracey at the Black estate," Harry explained. "Melon and Periwinkle are busy with the people over there, so I wondered if you could make a pot of tea for Master Blaise and myself? Just bring it out here to the arbor."

Winky had a strong connection with The Mill, verging on proprietary feelings, and was thrilled Harry had called on her when Periwinkle and Melon were occupied elsewhere. She was also devoted to Zelda, feelings she transferred to Blaise and Tracey, as a sort of honorarium for combining to make their daughter.

Tea on the table and Winky thanked for the efficient preparation and service, Harry and Blaise moved to the arbor. Harry poured tea, slid one cup in front of Blaise, and got down to business.

"I have need of some research," he began. Fifteen minutes later he had outlined the problem, very sketchily at first, dropping tiny crumbs, watching Blaise carefully for anything that would have indicated Blaise was compromised in any way by the Lafleur movement.

Harry knew he had no tolerance for error. If he misjudged and gave away the background he had to the wrong person, his investigation could be over before it began. When he finally said 'Lafleur,' Blaise tilted his head back.

"Merlin!" he began, following it up with, "Damn. Damn-Damn-Damn. Oh, let's be careful, Harry. Let's be very, very careful. Lafleur. Oh, careful."

"You've some experience with them?" Harry asked.

"One arm's length removed, yes," Blaise said. "A year ago the firm got a little contract to do an audit of a private organization that received a bit of ministry funding for some services to youth and children. Not really what we're known for, but work is work, and we have a well-stocked directory of specialists we can call on. We took the job, got a financial type to look at that side, did some interviews, and wrote a report.

"Then it got weird. The people who directed some of the funds to a sub, which turned out to be a Lafleur organization, took exception. We'd seen some things that didn't look right and recommended further exploration as to whether they complied with standards for contracting, due diligence, blah-blah. Standard observation of compliance with ministry guidance. You would have thought that report charged them with high crimes. Deicide, or worse. The agency head rejected the report and refused to pay. I pointed out we had met the contractual terms and they owed, whether they agreed with the report or not. We got the basic amount but the agency refused to part with any of the performance bonus that is always in the contract."

"I just made a mental note to rebuff any future offers of work from that agency or the Lafleurs. Odd things kept happening, though. Prankish things. Mailbox stuffing. Poison pen letters. I didn't want to take up the aurors' time with it. We did a little standard surveillance. Very discreet."

Blaise stopped talking. Harry was familiar with the technique. He thought over what Blaise had said.

"Had they gotten someone inside?"

"Not my firm, no," said Blaise. "There was some financial hanky-panky involving a ministry employee who was a member of Lafleur's movement. He was pushing the do-gooder funds to the private agency that then subbed out to Lafleur. Your common, everyday corrupt practice. He was discovered and fired, and the agency is on the prohibited vendors list for two years. They even got to keep the funds.

"What surprised us was the over-reaction. It makes me think there is something a lot larger and they wanted to cut off contact before it was discovered in an expanded investigation, but at the same time, they kept calling attention to themselves," Blaise said.

"Where's the ministry guy today?" Harry asked.

"Don't know," Blaise said. "He's fortunate. I didn't find him inside my group."

Blaise let it hang there. Harry knew what it meant. He respected Blaise' right to shut up and go no further.

"I have to look into something. Something in my department," Harry said.

"Inside," Blaise said. "Inside your department."

"Yes," Harry said.

"Judging by your faraway look and long pauses, you don't feel you can give it to your own security section or the aurors," Blaise said.

"Not until I know they aren't compromised," Harry said. "The Lafleur people aren't just skimming from contracts. The upper echelon appears to be involved in some seriously depraved stuff. Children, specifically. They know they'll be going to Azkaban if they're caught, so they'll do whatever to avoid that. The infiltration of the ministry means they have legal and bureaucratic tools to deploy to delay or defeat corrective measures. They'll probably claim persecution, too. Jacques Lafleur just wants to help witches and wizards reach their potential by sharing the wisdom he's acquired."

"What do you want to do?" Blaise asked.

"The first thing is some research," Harry said. "I don't know who in the department would do an unprejudiced job and who would try to tank me while reporting back to Lafleur. It's the same as with the internal audit your firm did. I need some solid research done, names, numbers, known adherents."

"That's it? Standard rates?" Blaise asked.

"Sure," Harry said. "I can authorize that. Just so you know, I could be fired at the end of all this."

"That's a constant, isn't it?" Blaise said. "I'll present the invoice to your successor. Is anyone besides me working on this? I don't want to bump into Hermione and disrupt two projects."

"I have to speak to Hermione," Harry said. "With Mysteries you never know. They go back inside the lair and we might see them tomorrow or six months from now. I will be sure and tell her there is another effort underway and if she encounters the parallel she can just stand back enough to deconflict and carry on."

"Right" Blaise said. "I'm on it. Tracey and Zelda are in Cornwall?"

"Sure, give them a floo call," Harry said. "Go on over, if you want, just don't dither, please. I need to see what you have tomorrow morning. Eight o'clock, right here."

"I'll be here," Blaise said.

Harry heard Blaise talking from inside shortly before the green light poured out the door.

Harry sat waiting for Hermione to appear. He thought over his conversation with Blaise while he waited. He hadn't heard about the Lafleur organization getting involved with charities or contracting scams before. Merlin! What else would turn up?

Sitting still and stewing would not get Harry to any useful conclusion. He got up and went inside The Mill, coming out with the jar of dried crickets that sat on the mantle. These days it had a neighbor, a magical photo of a smiling Astoria Malfoy, who gave anyone picking up the jar a very big, overdone wink in recognition.

The trout in the mill pond were already coming up to the surface, some of them sticking their heads out, when Harry got to the berm. He couldn't think of a way to prove it, one way or the other, but he suspected Astoria had found a means of letting the trout know when someone was on the way with their crickets. Harry liked standing on the berm, flicking crickets off his fingertip for the trout. Something about it calmed his mind when it was in danger of overheating. He had stood right there, showing Astoria how to feed the trout, when she'd had her doubts about the aesthetics, before feeding trout became one of her favorite things to do.

Harry remembered the quick change in Astoria's thinking once she let herself absorb the rhythm of picking up a cricket, flicking it out over the pond, and watching one of the trout come up to accept the humans' tribute. She had even made it a final request to her survivors that they contribute some of the ashes from her pyre to the pond.

Fabio had introduced Harry to the concept of magic as the underlying connective tissue of everything that was. Harry flicked crickets and considered Fabio's theory. He couldn't find a logical flaw in Fabio's approach. He knew enough about muggle science to understand atoms, and the particles that went together in different combinations to make the elements. Break an atom and the behavior of the subatomic particles went beyond Harry's comprehension. Harry stood looking at an ancient oak at Potter Manor one day. The tree was huge. Lichens covered its bark. Fungi popped up between its roots. Squirrels chased other squirrels through its upper branches. A kite soared overhead. A random cloud dropped rain, then stopped after two or three minutes. Harry thought about everything that was alive, and the cycles of birth, death, and rebirth. The cycles went deep down into the community around the oak, becoming so subtle they disappeared. Something underlay it all, so why not Fabio's magic?

Harry was standing on the berm, thinking about the magic connecting everything, feeling Astoria's presence and feeding the trout when the green light shone out of the front door.

"Hullo?" came a voice from inside The Mill. It sounded like Hermione.

"Outside!" Harry shouted back. "Winky?"

"No, it's me," Hermione said.

"Winky is here, Lord Harry. Oh! It is Mistress Hermione. Will you stay for tea?"

"Have a seat, Hermione," Harry said. "I have to put the crickets back."

There followed a little tea sipping. Harry explained he'd only asked Hermione to come because he didn't want to poach on Ron's resources, which rightfully belonged to the Wizengamot. He asked for Hermione to exercise discretion for twenty-four hours, then he'd be glad to bring Ron on board. The Granger-Weasleys were used to being left out of spousal news. It wouldn't cause serious disruption.

There followed a repeat of Harry's chat with Blaise. Slow introduction combined with careful observation. It felt funny, being so guarded with Hermione. They were both alive because of their deep trust in one another. Still, Harry couldn't make a single mistake. If he misjudged, his investigation could be over before he'd gotten it underway.

"Oh, Merlin," Hermione said, when Harry got to the point. Being Hermione, she immediately started to put the pieces together.

"They're inside the ministry, diverting funding to their organization. You think someone is culling your reading before the reports get to you? They wouldn't stop there, would they? The people who produced the reports could be in danger. At the very least, the Lafleurs would have manipulated the system to give them different responsibilities," Hermione said, "To keep them well clear of any Lafleur scams."

"All true," Harry said, "And suggestive of the spectrum of their operations, something still to be determined. It's wide, though. I think we can be confident of that.

"Now, what to do? I have someone looking into some backgrounds," Harry went on. "I won't tell you who it is so you can honestly say that to anyone who asks. I can't direct the Unspeakables, of course, but if you should happen take an interest and in pursuing that you should run into another investigative effort, just de-conflict and we'll pool everything at the proper time.

"There are some things we can do," Hermione said, before caution took over and she went silent.

Harry knew Hermione had said all she had to say on the topic of Lafleurs working for the ministry.

"Have you heard anything about the youngsters' plans for the next few days?" he asked.

"Rose wanted to bring Zelda to the Burrow to play pickup quidditch with Weasleys," Hermione replied as she sipped he tea. "I think, if Tracey and I would let them go, they would just spend the summer there. Rose flies just fine, but she plays one game and sits down with Molly for some knitting and chat. Zelda never wears out. You know what George, Ron and Ginny are like around brooms. Charley is expected soon."

"Close to a team right there," Harry said.

Hermione tipped her head back and drained her cup.

"Thank Winky for the tea," she said. "I'd best check on my office and see what new conundrums they've loosed upon wizardry. I am going to need some coffee around two-thirty. Ministry cafeteria?"

"I'll be there," Harry said.

Hermione didn't bother with the floo but walked to the flat spot just past the millstone and disapparated with a 'POP.' Harry didn't have anything to do until coffee that afternoon, so he decided to stick with his leave plans and return to Cornwall and the family. If anyone from the Lafleur group, or any other hostile organization, were watching, Harry's movements wouldn't raise concerns. Besides, he felt the need for some quiet time to let his gray cells work.

"Ladies! James around?" Harry asked when he walked up on Tracey and Daphne holding the twins under the arbor.

"I think I'd look around in front. He was headed that way with one of Father's elf associates from Greengrass Manor," Daphne said.

Harry kept walking, but he thought he felt eyes on his back until he got around the corner of the house.

James was standing back from some plantings that bracketed the veranda, looking down the flagstone walk that led out to a green. James moved back and assessed the front of the house, then turned and looked back down the walk.

"Dad," James said, in what sounded like a statement.

"What are we doing?" Harry asked.

"Assessing the landscaping," James said. Harry wondered what needed assessing, as the house looked smashing to him.

"What do you think you can do with it?" Harry asked, hoping for a more illuminating response.

"Well," James said, turning toward the green as he motioned Harry to come along. "The plants along the front provide a little framing and color accents for the house. The Blacks had very dramatic taste, in houses."

"Quite possibly an understatement," Harry said. "Please continue."

"The look of the house will be affected by the trees, shrubs and other plants that grow around it. We stand off here and imagine the front with beds at the corners. What do we plant?"

Harry didn't know. He tried to remember conversations with Fabio, Neville and Teddy when they had discussed landscape design. He drew a complete blank.

"You've got some ideas," Harry said. "They're better than mine."

James gave Harry a very succinct description of what they had, what he wanted to keep, what he wanted to add, and why. Harry was beyond impressed.

"Done," he said. "Do you have to order anything?"

"A few things," James said.

"Approved," Harry said. "Are we doing anything today?"

James looked at Harry, a little confusion showing.

"You wanted to work?"

"Yes," Harry said, "At something. I want to move dirt, with hand tools."

"This way," James said.

Fifteen minutes later they were well into the removal of excess bedding plants.

"Feel better?" James asked.

"Calmer," Harry said. "I guess that is better."

"What's on your mind?"

"James," Harry said. Left unsaid, but implied was, "You can't seriously expect me…"

Harry stood up straight and stuck his garden fork in the ground.

"Actually, have you ever heard of Jacques Lafleur? He's some kind of guru for witches and wizards," Harry said. "It's a movement. They recruit. Young people."

"I got a flyer from them once, on the train platform," James said. "I didn't see anything relevant for me."

"Glad to hear that," Harry said.

They got the bedding plants out and James handed Harry a shovel.

"You'll need a hole, right about there, three feet across, two to three feet deep. Put the soil over here," James said.

"Has anyone tried to get you to talk about me, or what I'm doing, or the family?"

"Dad," James said, "We're not supposed to know anything about you. You used to be an auror, but now you do something in an office. I've told that to a lot of people. They've stopped asking."

"Well, James," Harry said, "That is actually a very good state of affairs."

Harry went back to his digging, putting some back into it. He wanted the physical exercise to clear his mind, so he could think through the Lafleur problem and all the subsidiary issues that had emerged since Lissette had come into their lives shortly after end of term. Instead, he'd managed to inject Lafleur into a gardening conversation with his son. Lafleur, someone Harry had never set eyes on, had succeeded in getting inside his head.

Harry kept an eye on his watch.

"Need to leave?" James asked.

"Got an appointment at two-thirty," Harry said. He didn't elaborate. "What am I digging a hole for?"

"A banana plant," James said. "I think those big green leaves will look good here at the corner of the house."

James looked at Harry's work.

"That's enough, I think," he said. "Leave everything here. What time is it?"

Harry looked at his watch.

"One," answered Harry.

"Time for some lunch," James declared. Turning to the garden elf, he asked, "Are you ready to go back to Greengrass Manor? Thanks for coming."

He didn't need to ask twice. The elf had disapparated before Harry and James got to the rear of the house. Harry got his wand out first and cast _purgio_ at both pairs of shoes. Salad and sandwiches waited inside at the big dining table.

Harry looked around the table. The Potters, Tracey and Lissette were all there. Zelda, Harry theorized, was at the Burrow with Rose, and the quidditch players. Keeping an eye on his watch, Harry took his time with a very summery salad.

"Did you grow all this?" Harry asked James.

"Pretty much," James confirmed.

"Well, thanks," Harry said.

Harry didn't have a lot of spare capacity for chit-chat. He kept thinking about his Lafleur problem, or problems, and the people he'd asked for some investigative help. When he wasn't thinking of that, he was fighting to keep his anger in check. He didn't know how Lissette was able to face her mistreatment with such calm. Rage by proxy wouldn't help him fix his department. It would just divert him from directing an efficient investigation and making necessary corrections. He fought himself to stay focused.

"I have an appointment in London," Harry announced. "Maybe an hour, at the outside. If it looks like it will go longer, I'll try to owl or get word back somehow."

"Grimmauld Place," Harry said, dropping the floo powder. Daphne looked at Tracey. Neither of them, knowing Harry as they did, believed he had anything at all to do at #12. Still, it was so sweet of him to give them a cover story in case they were captured and given _veratiserum_.

Harry entered the ministry via the atrium. He consciously avoided getting caught up in the atmosphere of hustle and bustle, forcing himself to cross the atrium at a stately pace. He checked in with the security desk. The guard made a note on his sheet of ruled parchment, and Harry proceeded on to the cafeteria.

"Over here."

Harry recognized Hermione's voice and looked around, before locating her at a table that was neither conspicuous nor inconspicuous. Perfect. She even had two coffees ready.

"Goodies?" Harry asked.

"A few," Hermione teased. "Not here in front of everybody, Harry. You know the rules."

"Zelda has been abducted by Rose, apparently, just as you said," Harry began.

"You seem quite content with that, for a former Head Auror," said Hermione.

"I defer to her mother," Harry said. "She's done such a good job so far."

"That's actual wisdom, Harry," Hermione said. "You've grown so much."

"Well, now I'm primed to leave that all behind and start bludgeoning," said Harry. "I'm speaking figuratively, of course."

"Of course you are," Hermione said, adding, "Clearly. So I suggest we take these coffees and retire."

No one watched them leave. Harry, the department head whose department did not officially exist, and Hermione, the Head Unspeakable, turned no heads walking out of the ministry cafeteria deep in conversation. A complete stranger to ministry organization could have figured out something was going on by the strained air of business as usual that hung over the room.

"We've made some changes," Hermione said as they went down a corridor.

"Um-hmm," Harry acknowledged, "That's normal. The ministry was letting itself get shabby. Décor has really improved under Kingsley. What have you done? I only ask because the air looks maroon, like the walls, except for the corners and they look flat black."

"The paint is new. Magical Maintenance kept the original color scheme."

"Here we are," Hermione said, presenting her wand before an ordinary-looking door. The door opened, smoothly, but slowly, with great dignity, like a bank vault. Of course, the ordinary-looking door provided greater security than any bank vault in the muggle world. The Unspeakables felt quite safe from outsiders once they'd crossed the threshold, leaving only what they had inside to give them cause for fear or alarm.

Hermione walked with complete assurance through the round room encircled by identical doors. Harry felt the onset of nausea. He knew it wouldn't go away, but would only get worse, until Hermione got him out of that room. He couldn't understand how Hermione, who had had her own near-death experiences in the Department of Mysteries, could walk around with such assurance. He knew the techniques for controlling one's emotions and compartmentalizing conditioned responses to clear the way for dealing with immediate crises and emergencies. He used them in the circular room. What mystified Harry was Hermione's seeming immunity to the reignited terrors that affected him in her workplace.

"Because it is so delicious," Hermione said, picking one of the doors.

"What?" Harry asked. He was a bit startled by the answer to his unasked question.

"Your face said you don't want to be here," Hermione told him. "You're wondering how I can walk in and out and around the office every day. I was right here with you for that horror show, so it's only natural that you'd like to know what sorcery I'm using to appear unaffected."

"Something, like that, I guess," allowed Harry. "I couldn't feel you inside my thoughts, by the way, so I congratulate you on your technique."

"This way," Hermione indicated, waving her hand towards a long corridor of identical doors with no numbers or nameplates of any kind.

"The truth is, Harry, if I gave in to the negative emotions, the terror, I'd probably pee my pants before I could get out of here. Don't laugh, it's true. However, I overcame this once. That's what I stay focused on. I suspect you have something like that in you, just like me. That is what kept you from panic in those situations back at Hogwarts. You had already beaten the worst Voldemort could throw at you. When I bump up against the terror down here, my mind gets a little defiant," Hermione concluded.

"My office," she said, as a door opened for them.

"Is that all you've got?" Hermione asked. "I've already done that. That's what I say to it. To the terror. So delicious."

"Thank-you for the compliment, too, although I wasn't inside your thoughts. After all this time, you haven't stumbled on that? I don't need to go inside with you, Harry."

Hermione was one of the first witches Harry had met after learning he was a wizard, and she didn't get any less scary the longer he knew her.

"Have a seat," Hermione said, waving her wand over a small stack of file folders on top of her desk.

"A few things from the archives in here," she began. Harry focused on Hermione's outline of the contents of each file. Even with the new paint, the Department of Mysteries seemed designed specifically to creep out any stray Harry James Potter who wandered through. Harry speculated everyone had at least one of those. He knew Hermione had a permanent aversion to Malfoy Manor, scene of her torture and scarring at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange, for which Harry blamed himself. He had hesitated right here in this department, letting Bellatrix get away when he would have been perfectly justified in killing her after what she had done to Sirius.

The deep maroon walls and the flat black corners tried to close in on Harry, while his mental exercise of listening closely to Hermione kept them in place. Harry convinced himself Hermione's words were his armor for the fight against the walls. That seemed to work, until she stopped talking.

Harry felt the office shrinking.

"So it's a con?" he asked, looking up from the open file folder on his lap. Anything to get Hermione talking again.

"It is," she said, "And more. There are always cults and sects and movements and pep-talkers around. Muggles and magicals both support healthy populations. If a person goes, hears something that makes them feel good, and gives a donation, there is nothing illegal in that. It isn't even objectionable, if it really helps a person face their problems or resolve an internal conflict.

"This one stands out, though, because it appears to be a conspiracy to do something. Just what is unclear. Infiltrating your department is deeply troubling. You weren't aware of Fiona's involvement with Lafleur. Going to self-help lectures or learning a meditative technique would not have been cause to deny her employment or promotion. Using one name for work and another in the Lafleur organization, though, that requires an explanation," Hermione said.

"This is a delicate matter, Harry," Hermione went on. "The public face of the Lafleur movement is squeaky clean. It might not be possible to make a legal case that will stand up."

"The misconduct, if any, was done by individuals," Harry said as he turned over another sheet. "Abuse of position."

"That will be the organization's position, almost certainly," Hermione agreed. "Historically, that is the first defensive posture."

Harry felt the walls pushing toward him, making it difficult to focus his mind. He wanted one more overview before he got the hell out of Hermione's madhouse.

"So Jacques Lafleur, the leader, has gone from renting a hall for a few hours and putting on "An Evening with Jacques Lafleur," to heading up a movement with a permanent organization of salaried flunkies, an income largely invisible to the authorities, and at least one successful penetration of a critical ministry department," Harry began.

"In a little over five years," Hermione added. "His origins are cloudy. He's almost certainly not Jacques Lafleur to his mum and dad. The philosophy is a mishmash, bits of mystical traditions from here and there."

"The increasing of magical power through meditation is not something usually seen in the retail magical texts," Harry went on.

"But you…" Hermione continued.

"What?" Harry said, a hint of alarm in his tone.

"Well, Harry," Hermione said, just a little bit exasperated with her longtime comrade-in-arms, "Your interest level spiked when we got to mixing meditation and magic, making me certain of something I've suspected for a long time. You practice, something, along with your dueling and wand work. You have been since you came back from your travels."

Harry was keeping the walls back, but it took an effort. The Department of Mysteries had no windows, which was to be expected, but they insisted on keeping the oil lamps and beeswax candles to a minimum. Harry speculated it was just more mysterious with dim light and black smoke.

"Okay," Harry said, "Since you asked. I don't bring it up because it is private, but this is a professional conversation. You have a legitimate interest.

"When I took my time away from Britain, I started out a real mess, up here."

Harry tapped his temple.

"Professor Flitwick had introduced me to dueling, like so many of us. I liked the workouts. It's escapism, for people with troubled minds. Exercise gets the mind out of the maze for a little while. If you can get into that zone for an hour or more daily, the mind starts to heal itself. My mind needed a LOT of healing.

"I didn't spend all my time as a wizard, while I was traveling. I looked for things to do, for the exercise, a replacement for dueling. I found a teacher. He was well-qualified in judo, and some other disciplines. He was a wizard, too, but he ran a school in a storefront, taught children, new mothers, aspiring boxers. I just walked in, and asked him about one or two judo lessons, just for familiarization. It fits quite neatly with our movements in dueling, believe it or not.

"I came back," Harry went on. "I always asked for a tutorial, which was expensive, but I didn't have anything else to spend my money on, so I didn't worry about that. I was just glad he could clear thirty minutes or an hour for me. He had a very successful school. You've probably guessed what's next. He figured out who I was. He identified himself as a wizard and took me to his real school.

"He'd built a retreat, outside of town, on a rocky patch of ground he owned. Some charms kept it occluded. One little shack, not much more than a lean-to, with a shrine inside and a few cushions. The students kept the little kitchen spotless. We had to sign up for the privilege of scrubbing the pots and pans, because that was the only time we touched hot water. The dojo was some packed earth in the courtyard, and three very substantial posts sunk in the ground. There were never more than three of us there at a time, besides my teacher. The days were work, meditation, hours and hours of forms, and silence.

"It sounds idyllic, but it was serious. Challenging, very challenging. After two weeks, I was allowed to spar. The others were more advanced, having been there longer. They took it easy on me at first, then our teacher said to get better, I had to experience the results of my incompetence.

"Work, meditation, forms, and silence gave me my sanity," Harry said. Hermione's walls retreated. "When our teacher brought wands back into the mix, we applied the physical training to dueling. At a certain point, the practitioner can experience an ecstatic state, due to some combination of magic and body chemistry and physical exertion. One day, after our workout, we cleaned up and went inside to sit, and I stared at the wall and counted my breaths, and something happened."

"Something?" Hermione asked.

"A sensation. Coming home. Realizing we're already home, that we've been home, all along. We know ourselves, completely, even when we don't know ourselves at all," Harry said.

"Isn't that contradictory?" Hermione asked.

"It sounds like it should be, before," Harry said. "But afterward, it all made sense. I bowed to my teacher and asked his blessing to leave and return to Britain. He bowed to me and wished me well."

"What happened next?" Hermione asked. The walls were completely back in place. Hermione's office wasn't as claustrophobia-inducing as Harry had thought just a few minutes earlier.

Harry took a deep breath, let it out, then took another, and let it out. He felt his familiar meditative state around him, just beyond his arm's reach. If he had allowed it to approach, he could have stayed right there and heard the bell ring to begin sitting.

"There is a saying: 'Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.' I came back to Britain, entered auror training, and I chopped wood and carried water," Harry answered.

Hermione sat staring at Harry over the pile of file folders. She and Harry had known one another since they were children. Hermione suspected Harry's evolution included some arcane knowledge. He was simply too good at single combat, for one thing. His famous equanimity in the face of mortal threats was another. Even so, she was surprised.

"You could do a Lafleur movement, if you wanted, couldn't you?" Hermione joked, "Only you'd do it right."

"There is a problem with that," Harry said. "Magic and martial arts must both be treated with respect. In combination they are very dangerous. My oath forbade me from misusing the power my teacher's techniques allowed me to access, taking money from others in exchange for the knowledge, or teaching it to the uninitiated. Furthermore, I am sworn to stop those who violate the prohibition."

"Harry?" Hermione asked, making it sound like she wanted to shriek.

Harry held Hermione's eyes and nodded. His skin wanted to tingle, but it was not yet time, so he focused his thoughts on a simple idea—a peaceful solution.

"It doesn't need to come to that," Harry said. He hoped his tone conveyed calm assurance. "Anyone can make a mistake. They must be allowed to correct their ways and make amends. Thank you for the informative briefing. How do I get out of here?"

"Right through that door," Hermione said, indicating the door they'd come in. Harry expected to see the endless corridor with the identical doorways marching down both sides, but he exited directly into the ministry atrium. He knew the Department of Mysteries was nowhere near the atrium. It wasn't even on the same level. Harry wondered what else Hermione had in her beaded bag. He was certain she hadn't shown him everything. Hermione never showed him, nor anyone else, everything.

Harry breathed in atrium air, deeply, feeling it displace the smoky Department of Mysteries air, breath by breath. He visualized the relatively clean atrium air penetrating to the lowest lobes of his lungs and pushing upward as he exhaled, moving the oil and beeswax up and out. Three breaths later he felt cleansed. He didn't think about the contamination in all the exhalations of ministry employees crossing the atrium with him.

Harry used an apparation point accessible by all ministry personnel. He was authorized to use several reserved for the most senior officers of the ministry, but he intended to be seen. Anyone watching, and he was certain there were some, needed to be aware he wasn't sitting still. Harry wondered what course the Lafleur organization would pursue. By now they knew they would have to do something. He let his conscious mind go, bidding it to think like Lafleur.

The period of building an organization on the fringes was over. Harry Potter, through his daughter, had snatched one of their adherents. That had to be challenged. Furthermore, Harry Potter was moving around London, meeting publicly with the Head Unspeakable. Blaise Zabini, another Potter associate, had brushed the Lafleur network some months back, uncovering a lucrative scam for tapping ministry funds, leading to the cutting-off of several similar deals.

Harry had entered #12 Grimmauld Place and thanked Kreacher for his work opening the door when it occurred to him he had lost track of the reason he had gone home in the first place. That is what happened when one released one's faculties without a trusted escort to guide them. The subconscious took over and brought one back to base. There was no one there, everyone else being at the Black estate in Cornwall. Harry asked Kreacher for a glass of iced tea in the garden, then went upstairs to change.

Fully freshened up and wearing clean clothes, Harry sat in the garden, appreciating the fresh air and the absence of candle and lamp smoke. He finished his iced tea, and would have enjoyed drinking another one, but he knew the second would inevitably impede his progress, so he continued to sit, running through everything he had learned about the Lafleurs since Lissette had come to the Potters.

Harry was in Lafleur's way. Lafleur would have to try to remove him. Lafleur could confront him or try to achieve his goal by stealth. He had succeeded in getting a close associate into Harry's inner circle, it appeared. Harry was unable to use his own counter-intelligence assets for fear they were compromised. It was a master stroke. Fiona's very presence precluded taking standard protective actions. For now, Harry Potter was checked.

That was A problem. THE problem, though, was Lafleur. Harry suspected the two of them were racing down the tracks, directly at one another, with neither able to step aside. Harry thought Lafleur's ego would force him to concoct a way to get Harry to fight him. The deck would be stacked, if Lafleur could do it, but he would take care to make it appear to be a fair fight.

Harry still didn't know who Jacques Lafleur really was. Nor had he been able to find out if he was an actual vampire, or if that was someone's figure of speech.

"Monster Versus Vampire! The Fight of the Epoch!"

Harry's mind designed a poster along the lines of muggle movie advertisements, making Harry laugh out loud. It wasn't that funny, but it gave him a little relief from the tension.

Harry got a good night's sleep at the Black estate and arrived at The Mill at seven-thirty next morning. He opened up the front door and let the fresh air and sunshine pour in. Summoning Winky, he tasked the elf with a quick trip to the Potter Manor owlery to ask his favorite owl, a big male barred owl, to join him at The Mill.

Harry tied a note to the owl's leg, then extended his fist for a perch.

"I know you can do this," Harry said, "I wouldn't ask otherwise. See you soon."

The barred owl hooted once, gave Harry a wink, and launched off his fist. Harry called for Winky a second time.

"Master Blaise will be joining us soon, Winky," Harry said, "I'd like to be able to offer him coffee or tea. Could you prepare a carafe of each?"

Winky was overjoyed, as always, to be asked for some little service by any member of the Potter family. The prospect of Harry and Blaise in combination was particularly sweet.

Harry heard the 'pop' from the flat spot and saw Blaise strolling down the lane past the wooden bench that sat by the old millstone. Harry stood up and extended his hand when Blaise reached the arbor.

"Welcome back," Harry said.

"Such a magical spot," Blaise observed. "Thank you for inviting me. Do you ever get tired of it?"

"Not so far," Harry said. "Coffee or tea?"

"Coffee, please," Blaise said. "Oh! Winky! Miss Zelda says hello!"

"Winky is so happy, Master Blaise," said the elf. "Please tell Miss Zelda Winky says hello as well!"

It was a beautiful July morning, not too hot yet, and Harry and Blaise sat under the arbor, both very reluctant to get to work. They listened to the breeze rattling the grape leaves, caught up on all the childrens' news, glossed over Lissette's summer with the Potters, and gradually worked their way back to the matter at hand.

"You understand I could get a lot more if I had more time, I know, but why don't I lay out what we managed to find and you can let me know if you want us to keep digging. I hope it goes without saying, Harry, we get freebies from time to time, ancillary stuff from working on other projects, so you're welcome to any such, no charge.

"First of all, no offense meant toward your former outfit, but it appears the aurors' traditional suspicion regarding the new and flashy has served them well. We found no indication the aurors were compromised, from Ralph Mann on down. That doesn't vet every auror in every nook and cranny in Britain, of course, but the leadership does not seem to have flirted with Lestrange at all.

"Second, reporting on Lestrange has gone up the line, and should have gotten into your reading. Fiona has to be considered the prime suspect for volunteer editor. She would be a good place for the counter-intelligence effort to start, if I may be so bold?

"Well-put, Blaise," Harry said. "Right under my nose."

"Don't blame yourself, Harry," Blaise said. "Lafleur has been hiding in plain sight, right under everyone's nose."

"Third, Jacques Lafleur is an assumed name," said Blaise.

"Of course," Harry replied.

"Had to be, didn't it?" Blaise said. "His real name is Michel Lestrange. Anglo-French family. He's a nephew of your old pal Georges. We couldn't get anything on his education. He studied somewhere, or did a good job educating himself, judging by the sources he draws on for the lectures and essays. The way he handles his references in building up to reach his conclusions sounds like he has a grounding in the formal study of philosophy as well as history of magic. According to our analyst, and, like I said, time is a factor. That could be subject to revision in light of new information."

"Is he really a vampire?" Harry asked. "Not figuratively, in actuality?"

"We're working on that," Blaise said. "He has purged much of his past. He emerged as Jacques Lafleur, magical public intellectual and popular lecturer around five years ago. Going further back than that will take a lot of digging."

"Hmm…" Harry pinched his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger.

"How is your coffee?" he asked. "Top it up? Glass of water to go with it?"

"I'd take some more coffee," Blaise said.

Harry got to the carafe first. He took his time loosening the stopper, and tilted the carafe toward Blaise' mug.

"Lestrange has a reputation, in certain circles," Harry said. "Not very positive, I'm afraid."

Harry sat back down and immersed himself in his own thoughts once more.

"When you were in the Army, I was pursuing my own post-Hogwarts therapy," Harry said. "I had an experience, an illustration of the truism that when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. Michel Lestrange had stumbled through a course of study with my teacher. I heard about if from another student. Our teacher is famously closed-mouth. As soon as he learned a few things, Lestrange showed his real concern was turning the knowledge he had gained to a commercial purpose. Which is not allowed. It appears he got the formula right around five years ago and became Jacques Lafleur."

"What do you think his reaction will be to your investigative efforts?" Blaise asked.

"Oddly enough, I've been pondering that since yesterday afternoon," Harry said. "Hermione gave me enough to tweak the memory. You just confirmed my hunch."

Harry looked to Blaise like he was prepared to ponder away all afternoon, if that were necessary.

"I think, by this time, word has gotten to Lafleur, or Lestrange, that I am looking into a couple of their areas of activity. From what I heard at my teacher's, I suspect Michel Lestrange is ruled by his ego, loves power and money and the things those can provide, and will feel compelled to respond to a perceived threat with overwhelming force. I have no idea whether or not he knows I studied with our master. I suspect not. As I said, Master is very closed-mouth, so unless another student talked about me, there is no reason for Lestrange to know about the connection. He'll know as soon as we face off, of course."

Blaise sat there, considering Harry. The breeze rattled the grape leaves in little rising and falling crescendos and diminuendos, laying down a counter-rhythm to their voices. They were sharing the intelligence upon which an operation would be based that in all likelihood would end in a fight to the death.

"What do you want me to do?" Blaise asked.

"I'd prefer not to have a big battle with a bunch of casualties to attend to," Harry said. "If things turn out properly, Lestrange and I will do all the fighting. If it doesn't go that way, do the best you can for Tracey and Daphne. They didn't start any of this, and the children are going to need them. Oh, one other thing, my will is up to date. Tracey becomes the guardian of the children in the event Daphne doesn't survive me. Not to put you under any more pressure than you're used to, but I'll count on you to show up once in awhile and mentor the youngsters. The boys in particular. They'll need to see an adult male who knows how to behave in polite magical company."

Blaise nodded.

"What's next?"

"Meetings," Harry said. He thought about what he'd just said and had to suppress a laugh. "Kingsley, Percy, Bart, Ralph, Hermione and our liaison with Wizengamot investigations, Ron Weasley. I'll give Kingsley what we've got so far. I'll have to offer my resignation, again. I suspect he'll turn the investigation over to Ralph and the DMLE. After that, my guess is Michel Lestrange will demand satisfaction."

"You don't want my associates to do that part? We can be discreet," Blaise said.

"No, that wouldn't work," Harry replied. "I appreciate the offer. Rogue he may be, but the, um, Lodge will expect me to do this myself. Michel Lestrange forsook the right path and violated his oath in my territory. I let it go on too long. Innocent people were hurt. Only I can make it right. The rules are simple and few. If I get it right, this will be cauterized and we'll go forward, lesson learned."


	40. Chapter 40

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Forty

Two Days of Strange Revelations

Harry Potter looked around at his immediate family. He had convened everyone in the library/gallery at Potter Manor to give them what he could. That wasn't a lot. Much of what he knew was either classified or critical to an ongoing investigation, not to be shared prematurely with unofficial persons. The gist was simple enough—he was on leave from his department. He had had meetings with concerned officials that morning. The Minister, Kingsley Shacklebolt, did not want to do it, but some action was necessary in light of the seriousness of what had happened.

The official story according to Kingsley's press spokesperson was that Harry had suffered some mild cardiac symptoms and would be resting at home pending the results of a full battery of tests by the healers from St. Mungo's cardiac unit. The unofficial version, as related to Fiona, the departmental deputy designated to act in Harry's absence, was that Harry was under investigation. Allusions were made to misfeasance, exceeding his brief, freelancing, and lack of candor when asked several direct questions by Percy Weasley. Percy gave Fiona a closed-door briefing, concluding with a verbal commission from Kingsley to assume the directorship on a temporary basis until the 'Potter Matter' was concluded.

"Did we do this?" Iolanthe asked. "Did I?"

"No, this is all me," Harry said. "I wasn't paying close enough attention. None of you are to blame in any way. It's purely a performance issue. Now, we are literally down to weeks before it is back to school. Everyone has to start thinking about first term, the subject matter you'll be tackling, supplies, uniforms that need replacing, and on and on. The world won't stop and wait for us because I'm sitting at home. All of our scholars can start to inventory their kit and we'll refit now so we're ready in September."

James and Iolanthe looked a little doubtful, but they had no choice but to take Harry's word for it. Zelda did not yet have a strong grasp of politics. She decided if there were to be any drastic changes to their lives, Tracey would inform her. Lissette, despite Harry's assurances, could not help thinking she had done something to cause her hosts' distress. Like many abuse victims, she had been conditioned to assume she was to blame for every bad thing that happened to her or around her. Even so, she held her tongue.

"So please carry on," Harry said. "Enjoy your summer. James, I'll probably just apprentice myself to you for the duration. You'll make sure my hard work and fresh air quotas are met, won't you?"

"Of course," James said. "As long as you follow my orders!"

With that, Iolanthe, James, Zelda and Lissette went back to whatever Harry had interrupted, leaving just Daphne and Tracey behind. Daphne waited for the door to close, then cast _muffliato_.

"Harry Potter."

Daphne made it a statement, although Harry was unclear on exactly what she was stating.

"Daphne Greengrass Potter?" Harry responded, politely, trying to be helpful.

"Are you going to tell us what is really going on?" Daphne asked.

"Some of it," Harry said. "I don't know all of it. Events will be taking place soon enough. A rough outline would be, an investigation is underway, I should not have anything to do with it because my office may end up with some of the responsibility, it concerns the activities of the Jacques Lafleur organization. Other than that, everything I know is confidential. In my judgment, you do not want to know all the details, at least not at this point. Some patience will be necessary over the next few weeks."

Tracey looked at Daphne. Daphne looked back.

"I don't…I guess I don't have anything more right now," Daphne said.

"Well, I do," Tracey said. "Harry Potter, this is a crock. Someone did something wrong and you're part of the solution, not part of the problem. Tell us what you want us to do."

Harry and Daphne looked at Tracey. They were used to Tracey's enthusiasms for event production, parties and weddings, and for Zelda. Other than that, Tracey was a presence in the Potter family, even when she was physically absent, and Daphne's most constant companion and helper. Harry couldn't remember any previous instances of Tracey acting like she wanted to draw her wand and mix it up with anyone. Nor had she ever exerted such spouse-like claims on their family life.

"Please don't do anything," Harry said. "Go about your business. Treat the children to a visit to Fortescue's. If you're worried about security I can arrange some coverage."

"Harry," Tracey replied, boring in. "I've been here with you and Daphne for years, if you remember? I hugged her and held her hand when you were lying in St. Mungo's with your chest laid open and I thought, 'At least I'm not crying myself to sleep because I might lose my husband tonight,' but I would have, wouldn't I? Something like that.

"You took me in when I was the castoff my own family all but disowned. You had a wife and family and you made room in your heart for Daphne's pregnant friend Tracey. You made me feel like I'm a human being and you appreciated me, just for that, and you gave me a stable foundation to build a life on and you have never once asked for anything in return. I have a home for Zelda, thanks to you. I'm part of this. Not a conventional part, I'll acknowledge, but something.

"I'm so sorry, Daphne, it's true. This is how I feel. None of us saw this coming. I didn't, and if you did, you didn't think to tell me. Now you can decide what you want to do with me. I trust you, completely, like always."

Tracey pulled a tissue from a box. She didn't look at either of them while she dabbed her nose. Daphne felt an explosion building inside her. Who did Tracey Davis think she was, talking to her husband like that? In Daphne's house? That was Daphne's prerogative alone. It would serve her right if Daphne were to tell her to take Zelda and get out of her house and not return. Then Daphne felt the pressure go away, as if it had evaporated, as if it never was. A switch closed somewhere deep inside, with a sound like a gasp and in that moment Daphne's life changed forever.

"Tracey's right, Harry," Daphne said, tears just starting to escape the corners of her eyes. "It took long enough, but I see our situation the same way Tracey does. We are almost interchangeable to the children, and they are to us. When Tracey and Zelda stay in Cornwall too long, I start thinking up reasons for asking them back. I have to see them, like I have to see you. Otherwise I get…off, somehow. This has been coming on for a long time. I understand it now that Tracey has laid it all out. I am complete and content when I have both of you close. In every way that matters Tracey is a Potter. From now on, we consider Tracey part of _US_. Unless you object?"

Harry didn't know what he'd just witnessed. Whatever it was, it was completely outside his experience and standard frames of reference. He hoped the witches weren't about to turn his immediate, comfortable, familiar world upside down. He thought Tracey had come very close to confessing she had feelings for her oldest, dearest, best friend's husband. Harry had to admit, when the Potters were in Devon and the Davis's in Cornwall, he had felt little twinges when he realized Tracey and Zelda wouldn't be at dinner, or would not be coming along for the family swimming party at Greengrass Lake.

"You know what?" Harry asked. "I am going to let you two continue to make all those kinds of decisions. You have experience keeping yourselves stable and it wouldn't be to anyone's advantage for me to interfere. I've a couple of conditions. I'm not getting married again, and if you make my life any more complicated than it is right now, I'm exiling the lot of you to the Faroes. I mean that. I have enough clout in London to make it happen, so don't doubt my word. Please."

"Yes, milord," was the reply, in duet.

"I know you're both due a better explanation of what is going on. Believe me, I appreciate everything the two of you do for me and the children and the household. I would not trade lives with any person on Earth," Harry said.

Later, upstairs, Harry slid his arm under Daphne and pulled her close.

"What just happened?" Harry asked.

"We all said we like each other and want to be together," Daphne said. "Other than that, bonds of affection are mysterious. Maybe Nature doesn't want us to understand too much, or the magic will go away."

"Do we just like each other? I don't want anyone but you in here with me, like this, I mean," said Harry. "There is only one of you. Cut me off if I get too gushy, but I can tell you truthfully I've had two lives, one before we got together and another one after. I prefer this one. I'd rather it wasn't disturbed."

"That makes me happy, Harry," said Daphne. "That makes me very happy. If it doesn't feel right telling Tracey you love her, you can tell her you're glad she's here. She'll know what you mean. And, in case you were wondering, Tracey and I aren't... Understand?"

"I wasn't worried. We do have to make some provision for her and Zelda now, though, don't we?" Harry said. "Something could happen that knocks us out of the picture, and then what would they do? I've been thinking about it, off and on, for a couple of years. I know Tracey has her business, but my guess is she doesn't have a lot put aside, and she hasn't mentioned the Davis family doing anything for her financially. Blaise may have done something, but if he has, he's been very closed-mouth about it.

"Between us we can give her some security and we won't even notice it. She'll need enough capital to generate an income for the two of them. I can work that out with Whetstone.

"They need a home, too, something in Tracey's name, even if they don't live there full-time," Harry said. "The Black estate is entailed, so I couldn't transfer it to her even if I wanted to. Why don't the two of you do some house-hunting? Figure out a way to do it so she doesn't appear to be a poor relation we're forced to support or a kept woman.

"While we're on the subject, I've been thinking about James and Teddy, too," Harry went on.

"Yes, we need to provide for all of them," Daphne agreed. "James has a job, you know, with Father."

"Oh, no, I didn't," Harry said. "He's moving into your position in the firm? At the age of twelve? Thirteen?"

"Pfft!" Daphne said. "I no longer have a position. I abandoned my position when I assumed responsibility for the mental health needs of magical Britain. Father wants James to focus on Hogwarts right now, because James has a tendency to follow his nose and that leads to a spotty education. That wouldn't do James a lot of good when he's a full-blown adult making his way in the business world. He's going to be a great magical botanist, but his real passion is magical landscape architecture, just like Fabio. That draws on multiple disciplines. He'll have to work if he wants to get there. Father thinks he has the tools. I don't know if he offered James a job, formally, but they have an understanding."

"What about the estate? I've forgotten all the details from our meeting with Gringotts," asked Harry. "I remember it's medieval."

Daphne laughed again.

"I'll never get to sleep," she said. "The entailment gives the estate to my firstborn child, regardless of sex. So that means, Merlin willing, it will pass eventually to Iolanthe. Father has some other properties, in addition to the business. He can make whatever bequests he wants to with those."

"Okay," Harry said. "While I'm suspended I can work on getting our people some financial security. It will be a good use of my time. Now I plan to shut up. Tomorrow is the first day of our new adventure."

Harry didn't think it would add anything useful to mention he would also be out, moving around, visible to any of Michel Lestrange's underlings, should they be taking an interest in the suddenly less-powerful, less-influential Harry Potter. So, not seeing any need to bother Daphne, he kept that to himself, and went to sleep.

Tracey got to the patio before anyone else and was well into her first cup of coffee when Harry walked out into the July morning. He paused beside her chair, nearly putting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing, thought better of it, and tried Daphne's suggestion from the night before.

"Just so you know, Tracey, I'm glad you're here," said Harry. He pulled out the chair on Tracey's right and sat down. Tracey waited for him so settle, then reached over and laid her hand on top of Harry's.

"I'm very happy with you and Daphne, Harry," Tracey said. "I apologize if I was too forward last night, but I needed to tell you. Both of us, Zelda and I, wouldn't have the lives we have if not for you. So, what's on for today?"

"Someone will bring me some reading," Harry said. "Then I hope to do a little banking, if Gringotts can take me. If it stays nice, I'd suggest a visit to Greengrass Lake in the afternoon."

"Are you ever going to tell us what is really going on?" Tracey asked. "I know the signs when someone is coming after you. Daphne and I were at Hogwarts with you, you may recall."

"Yeah, what's going on?" asked Iolanthe as she walked up. "The real story. All of it."

Harry looked around. Lissette wasn't far behind Iolanthe.

"Look," he began. When the newcomers sat down, three bums pushed back against three chairs. Three forearms lay on the table. Three pairs of eyes bore into him with a tactile intensity.

"That's not going to be up for discussion right this minute. I am officially on sick leave because of some symptoms that gave cause for taking precautions, including absenting myself from the stress and strain at the office. There will be rumors. That is the way of things, something even the youngest of us understands."

Harry looked Iolanthe in the eye. She looked right back.

"If pressed, I'd appreciate the family confining its remarks to 'We're taking a wait-and-see approach,' if that isn't too much to ask," Harry continued.

Iolanthe looked at Tracey.

"We're taking a wait-and-see approach," she said.

"You poor dear," Tracey said. "Do let us know if you need anything the Davis family can provide in your time of trouble."

"How was that?" Iolanthe asked, directing the question to Harry.

"Completely believable," Harry said. "If I were a reporter trying to get the story, I'd quote you. What are you thinking of for breakfast? I've had scrambled eggs on my mind for some reason."

Everyone wanted scrambled eggs, it seemed, and Periwinkle appeared with a great platter a short while later, a mound of scrambled eggs in the middle and a border of toasted muffins, cups of crème fraiche, and slices of smoked salmon that somehow were a perfect fit for a muffin.

"Well!" said a voice they all recognized.

The four of them turned toward the house as Daphne stepped down onto the flagstones. She had her hair up in its twist, held by chopsticks. She wore a muslin caftan hemmed just high enough to not be a trip hazard for a busy mother.

"The youngest Potters have been fed and are awaiting transport. I believe this morning's fresh air and sunshine are indicated," said Healer Daphne.

Lissette jumped up, even faster than Iolanthe, and the two quick-marched back to the house, returning almost immediately with the wicker baby cradles. Evans and Davis were conversing in gibberish the whole way. Iolanthe and Lissette delivered the two to Tracey and Daphne.

"Hang them up?" Iolanthe asked Daphne.

"Sure, why not?" Daphne said. "Might as well let them enjoy a little swinging. I wonder if they'll miss it when they've outgrown the cradles?"

Iolanthe used wingardium leviosa to bring out two hefty wooden tripods from behind the great urn that stood at the corner of the patio. She went back for a log, about six inches in diameter, that spanned the tripods. There were chains descending from the log, ending in hooks, that allowed hanging both of the wicker cradles so the babies could be swung gently while everyone else admired them. If the breeze were just right, they could swing for hours undisturbed.

"Isn't this wonderful, lads?" Iolanthe asked when the two got going. "Your brother James is a brilliant engineer of baby equipment. Unfortunately, you're going to be rolling around and climbing soon and the Healer over there will ban you from your cradles. Poor little guys."

Looking at his watch, Harry decided it was time he met the messenger.

"Going for a little walk, to let the solitude do its work," Harry said. "I'll check the wards on the way. Better to stay inside, but remember them if you do have to go out."

"Wards?" said James, yawning as he walked outside.

"Yes, just a precaution, something to keep us interested," Harry said.

Harry had been vague about the someone who would be bringing him his reading. There were actually two people doing messenger duty that morning—Percy Weasley and Blaise Zabini. They really did have his reading file, as well as an update on the internal investigation. Harry met them in The Mill.

"Nothing actionable that I saw," Harry said, handing the folder back to Percy.

"That's the consensus," Percy said. "Still nothing about the Lafleur movement, either. Of course, there are other ways to do that sort of esoteric research. The easiest being the oldest, 'Follow the money.' Our colleague got there first, so duly noted, Blaise, and well done.

"The financial inspectors have been turning up some interesting accounts. The Lafleur group has become very proficient in tapping into the ministry cash flow, all along the model Blaise and his group discovered. A grant or contract is awarded then a little piece of it gets subcontracted to a Lafleur front, and a steady flow of galleons is added to Jacques Lafleur's net worth, month after month after month.

"It's clever and simple. There is no big theft to draw attention but the total of all the little ones is quite substantial," Percy concluded.

No one said anything, all three just sat there quietly, thinking through the problem.

"Who put the file together this morning?" Harry asked.

"Fiona," said Percy.

"Was there anything we would have found of interest?" asked Harry, already pretty sure he knew the answer.

"Yes, Harry, just as you suspected, there was a savory teaser cooked up with the connivance of a trusted analyst. It didn't make the cut, for your file nor for Kingsley's," Percy confirmed, sounding just as pleased as if Harry's discovery were his.

"Fiona," Harry nearly spat.

"It happens, Harry," Blaise interjected. "Don't blame yourself. Fiona has fooled everyone BUT you, hasn't she?"

"Still…"

"Bollocks," said Blaise, cutting Harry off. "You identified the problem, the damage is being assessed, it's going to get fixed."

"Now," Percy said, "Lafleur."

Harry didn't know how much Percy knew about Jacques Lafleur, born Michel Lestrange, the rogue student of restricted knowledge. He decided to keep his own counsel.

"Doing lectures?" Harry asked. "Sitting on his cushion, chanting?"

"No sightings for the last forty-eight hours, was it, Blaise?" asked Percy.

"More like seventy-two, I think," answered Blaise.

"Well, how about that?" Harry said. "What does that mean, I wonder? Fiona is functioning normally? No sign she's getting paranoid?"

"Not so far," Percy said.

"Where did the teaser end up? Do we know that?" Harry asked.

"It appears she disposed of it. She burns her read material regularly. The parchment had a little charm on it that would have alerted the aurors if it went out of the building," Harry said.

"Just what you'd want in a deputy, Harry," said Blaise.

"That's what irks me," Harry said. "When Daphne and I learned about the twins, and all of us were fully occupied with Astoria, and afterwards, I talked to Daphne about retiring and letting someone else have a go. I was going to recommend Kingsley promote Fiona."

The conversation stopped once more, while everyone thought his own thoughts about what Harry had just said.

"Well!" Harry said as he stood up. "Allow me to extend a little hospitality? Coffee, tea, pumpkin juice, breakfast? Snack? Winky lives to bring Blaise coffee and a bite to eat."

Both of his guests demurred, so Harry saw them off via the fireplace, then sat with the quiet at which The Mill was so accomplished. He thought through everything he'd discussed with Blaise and Percy, putting those pieces in the puzzle as it had emerged so far.

There was a well-developed body of evidence that the Lafleurs were systematically skimming from ministry contracts. That meant they had either corrupted ministry employees or management of the agencies that used ministry funds, or both.

Fiona had worked her way up in the ministry to a position in his department that enabled her to manipulate his understanding of current intelligence by sending on or retaining reports and analyses when she put his reading file together every morning. That would have been bad enough, but Fiona was the final editor for the intelligence files read by Kingsley and the junior ministers as well.

Harry thought back to when Fiona first joined his department. She had been there early in her career, then went to the DMLE where she…

"DRAT!"

Fiona's sponsor had given her the highest recommendation when Harry was interviewing candidates. That was a few years back, something like four years, or three-and-a-half. That would have put the emergence of Jacques Lafleur roughly a year prior. Harry felt the walls closing in. Time for some fresh air, and perhaps some fairies, he thought.

Harry sat down on the wooden bench to the left of the door and waited. Solutions to the toughest problems seemed to resolve if he sat long enough on that bench. Sometime later, Harry wasn't sure just how much, a barred owl glided to a perch on the arbor, a piece of note parchment tied to its leg.

"I don't have anything for a treat," Harry said. The owl hooted, a little irritation sounding in its tone. "I know, but the owlery is right up there, or you're free to go hunting if you want, just as soon as you make your delivery."

Harry held out his arm, and the owl left the arbor, gliding down to its temporary perch. Harry pulled the parchment free and lifted the owl to his shoulder before reading the note.

"That settles that," he said aloud. "Now, if you just go home and content yourself for a few minutes, I'll see that you're properly rewarded. Can you do that?"

The barred owl appeared to be contemplating nipping off a chunk of Harry's ear in recompense, but he refrained, hooted once, and launched himself toward the manor.

Harry secured The Mill and struck off walking for home. He used the time, sunshine, fresh air and exercise wisely, thinking through the complex of issues separately and together, arriving at what seemed like a reasonable solution by the time he arrived.

Daphne was in their room, laying out some of her professional clothes on their bed.

"Oh," Harry said, "Starting back to work?"

"Soon," Daphne replied. "This is just a staff meeting today, but I'll need to go back next week, or the week after at the latest. It's a good time. School will be starting before we know it. Are you going to be here to raise Evans and Davis?"

Harry hoped Daphne meant 'Will you be over and done with your department so you can stay at home?' and not 'Will you still be alive then, or…?' He was stumped for an answer, a situation that caused him great concern, although he didn't have time to ponder it right then.

"That could take a little time to determine," Harry said. He knew it sounded weak but dealing with an existential question on short notice always poses difficulties.

"Who's around?" Harry went on, asking what he'd meant to ask when he climbed the stairs.

"Everyone," Daphne said, "Tracey has something this afternoon, but I should be back around lunch."

"Oh, good," Harry said. "Wards. I'll talk to Tracey, but just to underline it. I suspect we have kicked a hornet's nest, or will shortly. Our inquiries are turning into a major organized crime/counter-intelligence operation. Our friend Lafleur's group, of course. We need to pay attention, all of us, including Iolanthe, James and Zelda."

"Do you want to move to Grimmauld Place?" Daphne asked.

"We may have to," Harry said. "It's so nice here, I'd hate to take the children back to the city. We don't have to decide today.

"Now, I'm going to do some banking. There may be a meeting or two afterwards, but that is still to be determined. I hope to be home for dinner," Harry said before planting a kiss on Daphne's cheek.

Harry went to the owlery and fulfilled his obligation to the barred owl. While he was there, he handed out smaller treats and chatted up the others who had been perching a bit more than they'd ought and getting fat. He threatened to cut their rations and make them hunt more if they didn't start paying attention to their fitness. Returning downstairs, Harry pulled a dress shirt from his closet and changed. Grabbing a necktie and a summer traveling cloak, he continued to the salon and stepped into the fireplace.

"Gringott's One," Harry said.

Whetstone was occupied, but Harry managed to get an appointment for later in the morning. Harry checked the time as he returned to the Gringott's One fireplace in the room off the main lobby. Another short floo trip and Harry walked out of the great fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron.

"Harry!" Neville Longbottom called out from behind the bar. "Judging by the time of day, you must have stopped in for a mineral water."

"How about a mug of coffee, and the mineral water on the side?" Harry asked, heading for Daphne's booth by the fireplace. As soon as he sat down, Harry checked for the Jacques Lafleur carving, which was still there on the panel. He reminded himself again that he wanted to do a rubbing of the piece before Hannah and Neville had it removed.

Neville delivered the mineral water, promising to have the coffee as soon as Hannah came out of the kitchen, before scooting back to the bar. True to his word, Hannah soon relieved Neville, who showed up minutes later with two big mugs of coffee.

"What's going on? This is a very odd time of day for you to be stopping in," Neville pointed out as he sat down.

"Not for public consumption?" Harry asked.

"Of course," Neville assured him, "Think of your publican as you do your doctor."

"There is an investigation going on," Harry began, "It requires my absence from the office."

Neville was well aware of the nature of Harry's job. If the head of his department figured in an investigation, in any way, there was a strong probability that things were not going well, for someone.

"Oh," Neville said, then, "Oh," a second time.

"I knew you'd sense the nuance," Harry offered. "Other than that, it's too early to say. Word gets around, so I expect you'll be back there and a customer is going to want to extract information from you, so you're authorized to answer, "It's too early to say."

"No matter what the question is?" Neville asked.

"Anything at all," Harry said, having a difficult time hiding his glee, "Until further notice."

"Well, of course we want to be supportive of our public servants," Neville affirmed.

"I'll also go on record as stating I have some business to attend to at Gringott's. I'm just early for my appointment," Harry summed up.

"Very routine," Neville noted, "The kind of thing any citizen might do on any given day."

Harry nodded.

"Ready for Hogwarts?" Harry asked, taking a sip of coffee.

"Just did two days up there, checking the greenhouses, assessing the plants," Neville answered. "Hagrid says hello to all the benighted down this way."

"Glad to hear he's well," Harry said, checking his watch. "I'm going to ask Daphne to send him an invitation to something. And now, I'll take a stroll before keeping my appointment at Gringott's, like any normal citizen."

Harry finished his coffee before stepping over to the fireplace, where he said, "Harry's flat," before dropping his floo powder. Harry walked through the flat, checking for open window latches, spills, palm prints on glossy surfaces, or footprints in the hall, kitchen, and around his desk. Satisfied that he had not had any unauthorized tourists in his flat since his last visit, Harry decided to drop a few crumbs and set about constructing a believable scenario from bits of personal property and livingry. He let his water run in the kitchen sink for sixty seconds, then filled a tumbler and took a long, satisfying drink. He took off his shirt, lathered his face and shaved, although he'd shaved at Potter Manor that morning, leaving his shaving mug and razor next to the sink in a little puddle of water and soap bubbles. There was a carton of gelato in the freezer compartment of the refrigerator, so he helped himself to three generous spoonsful before dropping the spoon in the sink and returning the carton to the freezer.

Harry expended the most thought and care on his desk. He put a quill and bottle of ink out, along with a packet of note-size parchment. A piece of parchment got a sizeable ink blot, was folded once and discarded in the small trash can that sat by the desk. A second sheet was tri-folded and placed under a heavy glass paper weight. Harry's desk had blotter paper in the center, and a quill was dipped in the inkwell and laid down flat to drip on the blotter. Harry picked up his water tumbler from the kitchen counter and put it down on the blotter. The condensation on the tumbler left a ring. Harry took another long, satisfying drink from the tumbler, emptying it, and put it in the sink alongside the spoon.

Harry stood in the center of his living room/dining room/kitchen space and looked around. One more bread crumb occurred to him. He'd drop that one and go. Harry opened the middle drawer of his desk and took out one of his favorite muggle inventions—a blue marker that spread a thick line of light blue ink one could read right through. Crossing to the refrigerator, he checked the card with the schedule for the Chelsea football club and found the next home game. He colored the day blue on the magical planning calendar that hung on the wall next to the fridge.

"Chelsea playing Liverpool at home," the calendar dutifully announced.

Harry's building was not all-magical. The magical apartments were accessed via a separate entrance, concealed from muggles by a charm that caused the canopy over the doors to disappear, the oaken doors to appear to be of a type of glass-and-wooden-panel used for commercial establishments in the first decades of the twentieth century, and the unwashed windows to seem to be backed by brown paper, with a permanently-displayed 'CLOSED' sign in the corner.

Harry had been very thorough in putting charms on all the routes someone could use to get inside the building and make their way to his apartment. As an auror, then a Head Auror, living alone, those were basic and prudent security measures, particularly if one lived semi-publicly in the heart of London. After he vacated the apartment the Potters had used it often enough to justify the checking and updating of the charms on a regular basis. He'd gotten used to the constant dings, dongs, and Westminster chimes that went off while his magical neighbors came and went, and subconsciously acknowledged and disregarded those he recognized as being on the front door or the lift, especially during high traffic hours. Thus, the ping of the charm for the stairs stood out. Harry had a charm for the stair landing on his floor, and it sounded in turn.

Grabbing his cloak from the back of his desk chair, Harry swung it around his shoulders, pulled the hood up, threw a pinch of floo powder in the fireplace and called out 'the Leaky Cauldron,' before taking a position in a dim corner of the living room. Harry leaned back against the corner joint, pulled his cloak snug across his front and cast ' _AEgyptis obscura_ ,' turning himself into a mummy case as someone unlocked his door and began to twist the door handle.

His mummy case disguise came with a pair of functioning eyes. He didn't recognize the first person through the door, but the second was his department head colleague, and former immediate supervisor Bart Fudge, Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Harry could hardly believe it. He'd been sitting on the bench at The Mill when Fudge emerged in his mind, because Bart had been such an enthusiastic supporter of Fiona when Harry was choosing his new principal deputy. Still, it was a shock to see Bart committing a breaking and entering, even if it was ironclad confirmation of his suspicion.

"No touring," Bart ordered as his companion stood looking at the mummy case. "No tossing the place, either. We're here to look for anything we can find that would indicate how much Potter knows. That is all Jacques wants, right now. Look around here and I'll go down the hall. Quick in and out, don't waste time. We don't know where Potter has got himself off to."

"Bart," said the mystery man as he slowly moved his wand across the front of the fireplace. "He just left. I can't be sure, but I think the last floo trip could have been to the Leaky Cauldron."

Bart Fudge changed direction and crossed the room to the fireplace. He moved his wand slowly across the opening, parallel to his flattened left hand.

"Yes, Nott, I think you're right. Good work," Bart said, "Probably has business in Diagon Alley. Okay, that takes some pressure off. Check the desk, I'll look down here."

Harry leaned back against the corner, as a mummy case, enjoying the show. He wondered what the rest of the day held? It wasn't even noon yet.

Bart Fudge emerged from the hallway.

"He shaved down there in the bathroom," said Fudge. "The soap is still wet. The bedroom is made up, like the elf just finished. That seems like an odd combination. He must have come here and cleaned up after sleeping at home, or the girlfriend's place. What have you got?"

"There is a dirty spoon in the sink, and a water glass with a few drops in the bottom," Nott reported, "The calendar has a whole day painted blue next week. A spoiled sheet of parchment in the waste can and a quill and ink bottle on the desk blotter. The quill seems to have been laid down and put a drop of ink on the blotter."

Fudge crossed to the desk and looked.

"Hmmm…" Fudge said, "Wonder what he was writing?"

"Do you think this is real?" Nott asked as he stood in front of the mummy case. He looked like he was about to reach out and touch it.

"No," said Fudge. "That looks like a copy of the famous King Tut case, and that is in Egypt, as far as I know. What are you doing?"

Nott had both hands on the edge of the mummy case, using his fingertips to pull the top toward him.

"That could be jinx…" Fudge nearly shouted, but it was too late.

"Awkk…" Nott croaked before dashing to the sink, where he threw up his partially-digested breakfast.

Fudge arrived at the mummy case and stood looking at the interior. One of the features of Harry's concealment charm was that it gave a respectful nod toward the details necessary to be the interior of a convincing mummy case. Upon opening the case, everyone expected to see it was empty, unless one had concealed oneself as a mummy case in a museum or an actual tomb. The mummy case was assumed to be a decorating statement, in a setting such as a bachelor flat in London, so the appearance of the occupant's skeleton, wrapped in shreds of linen, inside the case could put a definite chill on the adventuresome spirit of the casual intruder.

The magical mummy case, in effect, opened up and used the skeleton of the wizard who'd concealed himself, with the help of a few yards of magical linen, to appear to be the preserved, long-dead human specimen. The concealment charm even provided the added convenience of functioning eye sockets that must have worked in conjunction with those on the exterior, so the wizard could keep watch on the party from whom he was concealed. Harry wished he'd been oriented toward a mirror, so he could view his own skeleton. It occurred to him that the mummy case concealment charm could be a real hoot at a Halloween party. He resolved to try it sometime.

"Stop!" Bart Fudge ordered. Nott had been about to wash his sick mess down the drain.

"He could have recorded the placement of every item in this flat, including the things in the sink," said Fudge. "Assume anything that is moved tells Harry Potter someone has been here. Memorize the sink, clean it up, and put the glass and the spoon back exactly where they are."

"Very good, Bart," Harry thought to himself. "All those years as a prosecutor, soaking up procedure from the aurors. You have the ability to learn. What are you doing with the likes of Michel Lestrange?"

"Alright?" asked Bart Fudge, "I want to get out of here."

"Right behind you," answered Nott as he closed the door.

Harry waited, as a mummy case, until the last ding sounded, then forced himself to count to thirty before casting the counter-charm. The 'WHOOSH' sounded just as he was re-materializing as himself, giving him no chance to dodge or defend against the ' _STUPEFY_!' he heard before going stiff once again.

Harry was able to see, though, across the room, Lissette Lestrange with her right arm extended, new wand in hand, and her left pushing Iolanthe back.

"OH! It's Lord Harry!" Lissette said, "Ohhhh…I'm in so much trouble."

"No, you're not in trouble," Iolanthe said, looking down at Harry. " _Stupefy_ is a jinx. Now _crucio_ , that could get you in trouble. How are we doing, Father? Could you use a little refreshing?"

"Sure," Harry managed to choke out, so Iolanthe obliged him.

"I'm so sorry, Lord Harry," Lissette said, "I couldn't tell what that thing was, I was just trying to immobilize it so we could get a better look."

"No harm," Harry said. "Give me a moment, or two."

He struggled to his feet.

"Was that the new wand?" he gasped.

"Yes, sir," Lissette answered, still embarrassed but obviously pleased at how well she and her wand had performed.

"Well, Lissette, if you don't mind a little advice, you take care of that wand," Harry said, "Because I'm here to tell you, that _stupefy_ you and your new wand cast gave me a pop.

"Now, what are you two doing here in the flat?" Harry asked Iolanthe, just short of demanding.

"Tracey is at the manor, Mother is at her staff meeting, and Tracey thought it would be fine if we came to London for a quick ice cream at Fortescue's," Iolanthe began. "We were going to walk to Diagon Alley from here, with an occlusion charm, of course, while we were on the muggle blocks."

"That's probably true," Harry said. "However, you just missed dropping in on two of the miscreants who are somehow mixed up in the Lafleur situation."

"How close?" Iolanthe asked, much too eagerly for Harry's taste.

"They left, I counted to thirty and was reconstituting myself when you arrived," Harry said. "Too close, Iolanthe. Seriously."

He looked back and forth between them, then checked his watch.

"I have an appointment at Gringotts, which I really ought to keep," Harry said, thinking as he went. "Let's see…"

Harry adjusted his cloak, took a pinch of floo powder and floo-called the Leaky Cauldron.

"Neville? Hannah? It's Harry."

"Hi, Harry," Hannah's voice came back, "Need another coffee?"

"Something like that, three of us coming through."

Once they arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, Harry negotiated mineral waters for Iolanthe and Lissette. He put them in the most obscure, out of the way booth in the main room, promising Hannah he'd retrieve them in fifteen minutes, before going on to Gringotts One.

"Lord Potter-Black," said Whetstone, extending his hand. "Right this way."

Harry quickly laid out what he and Daphne had discussed, the establishment of an investment account they'd get running then transfer to a family member. The goal was to reinvest earnings to build up the account, since it wasn't anticipated the beneficiary would need the capital to live on, at least not for some years. Whetstone asked about a few specifics, declared the meeting done, and Harry returned to the Leaky Cauldron.

"Still need ice cream?" he asked Iolanthe and Lissette.

"Perhaps a small one," Iolanthe answered in a meek voice they both knew was fake.

"Let's go," Harry said, leading the way out to the charmed brick wall. "We'll just stroll down the street…"

Which is what they did, only Harry refraining from upsetting his lunch plans by eating ice cream first. Harry was pleasantly surprised when they got through ice cream and the walk back to the Leaky Cauldron, without a single person accosting them to talk about quidditch, Black family matters, or other affairs of the day. He had no doubt there were going to be reports of his movements in some quarters. The question was which quarters? When the little expedition arrived back at Potter Manor, Harry convened the group in the library/gallery, called for Melon, ordered pumpkin juice for all, and closed the door.

"Nice work, Lissette," Harry said. "I consider myself lucky you didn't get more radical in your choice of spells."

"Lord Harry, I'm so sorry," Lissette began once again, a catch back in her voice. "I saw that thing and I thought it was a threat to us. I'm so sorry."

"Don't cry," Harry said, "It's spilled milk. I might be a little sore tomorrow but I've been lots worse. Ask around if you don't believe me. Now, what you saw was the end of a concealment charm. That's what kept me from having to fight the bums I told you about. The charm turns the caster into a pretty convincing mummy case. No, you can't try it, and no, I'm not going to teach you, not until you've both acquired a lot more practical, everyday magic. Charms like that are frosting, for after you've learned to bake cakes.

"Before I forget, was that Professor Bulstrode's class coming out back there?"

"Yes, Lord Harry," said Lissette, "She's the only formal teacher I've had."

"Impressive," Harry said. "Now, on to personal security. I like London as much anyone, but this is not the time for you to be visiting on your own. Until the Lafleur matter is concluded. You both know they're a muggle-level mess. Two wizards broke into my old flat today, and at least one of them defeated every security measure I'd put in place.

"That would be impressive, all by itself. What do you think would have happened if they had been there when you two floo'd in and not me?"

Iolanthe seemed to be caught between the positive and negative aspects of Harry's hypothetical, while Lissette looked downcast.

"Lord Harry's right," Lissette said. "We didn't think it through."

"On the other hand," Iolanthe began.

"Iolanthe," Harry advised. "Now, how about some lunch?"


	41. Chapter 41

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Forty-One

Proper Planning

With his busy morning behind him, Harry took his time over lunch. Daphne was back from St. Mungo's and Tracey kept Daphne company during twin-feeding. Harry occupied himself with cheese and olives while he waited for the witches. The view from the patio down the slope toward the Dart was almost as good for thinking through a problem as the bench by the door of The Mill.

The situation before Harry was multi-faceted. He did not think Lafleur/Lestrange would be the most difficult part. If the magical guru fled, the ministry would probably leave him alone. If he wanted to stand and fight, Harry would oblige him. The criminal acts of embezzlement and child abuse, along with other crimes and misdemeanors discovered in the course of the investigation, would be processed and work their way through trials and sentencing. Fiona was a special case. She had taken advantage of the underage Lissette, so it was possible she'd done the same to others.

Fiona had also violated her oath by her double-dealing inside a sensitive ministry department. Fiona's sins were compounded, and that needed addressing. Bart Fudge was similar. The Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had broken into a department head's flat to collect intelligence for Jacques Lafleur. That was certain to provoke a response. Harry thought there was a high probability additional Fudge transgressions would surface.

How far did the rot go? Lafleur's methods were effective. There were always seekers. Some percentage were always getting conned by charismatic manipulators. What was the extent of Lafleur's influence in the ministry? Were other institutions penetrated? What was proper law enforcement procedure for a situation such as this? Secret societies, fraternities and cults always presented problems inside official bodies. At the very least, when a member received a promotion or some other benefit, their colleagues could get the impression they'd gotten a hand up from a superior due to their membership. The networks pervaded society. Adherents would bend law, break regulation, and withhold pertinent information to protect the organization, regardless of the damage to the public interest.

Harry thought about other movements that had arisen, generated chaos, not weathered a crisis, and shrunk. Voldemort and the Death Eaters and their auxiliaries the Dark Army were an example. Some of the muggle cults, although not users of magic, followed a similar pattern.

Assessing the degree of penetration would require a lot of analyst time, but a real breakthrough would depend on the interrogators' skill in eliciting cooperation with at least one of the principal delinquents. Harry did not like to be dependent on the results of interviews. That put him one step removed, at minimum, from a primary source. There were multiple flaws in the methodology, from Harry's perspective. If the interviewer took their own notes, they could drop one word and change the meaning of a paragraph. If a stenographer took notes, they could tire or fall behind the speaker. A subject could use a word with multiple meanings, leaving open the way to use of an inaccurate synonym.

Even so, Harry could not go into the archives and become his own forensic accountant. Cleaning up the mess would require cooperation and acceptance of the results of others, even though those might have flaws, gaps or poor links between cause and effect.

Harry's patio reverie was ended by the arrival of Daphne and Tracey. Daphne gave him a kiss to announce their arrival. Tracey kept her announcement to a smile.

"Children?" Daphne asked as she moved her chair into the shade as far as possible.

"We can go inside, if it's too sunny," Harry said. "Iolanthe and Lissette couldn't delay, and have consumed salads in preparation for something. I haven't seen James."

Harry walked to the edge of the patio and touched the tip of his wand to his throat.

One bellowing, "James!" fetched James out of his greenhouse.

"Lunch?" Daphne asked when James reached the patio.

"Sure," James replied, heading inside to wash up.

Harry was grateful his family members managed to eat a leisurely lunch without a single mention of Jacques Lafleur. The magical guru was taking much too much of Harry's mental processing ability.

"How was St. Mungo's?" Harry asked Daphne.

"Magnificent, as always," Daphne said. "I should have to pay them for letting me work there."

Harry looked at James, who rolled his eyes, but subtly. Harry smiled and focused on spearing a chunk of tomato in company with a cube of mozzarella, then swirling both in the oil and vinegar at the bottom of his bowl.

"Are these from James Greengrass Potter, Greengrocer?" Harry asked.

"They are," said James.

"Superb vegetables, sir," Harry said, touching a knuckle to his forelock. James looked at Harry over the rim of his glass of lemonade and let it go.

Iolanthe arrived back at the patio, satchel slung over her shoulder, trailing Lissette. They were dressed for some field work, jeans, practical shoes, shirts with patch pockets and rolled-up sleeves.

"All," Iolanthe greeted the family.

"All fortified, darling?" Daphne asked.

"Yes, Mother," Iolanthe answered. "I volunteered to take Lissette on a short wildlife documentation walk, subject to parental approval, as always."

James, Daphne, Tracey and Harry all paused in their eating and drinking, waiting for someone to call Iolanthe out on her excess of cheek, but no one did. Napkins dabbed at mouths. James rattled ice against the side of his lemonade glass.

"We've been talking about going to your grandparents' for a swim, if you're interested?" Daphne finally offered. "Around three?"

"We'll be back," Iolanthe advised, turning to leave.

"Stay on the manor?" Harry asked.

"If you wish, Father," said Iolanthe, adding, "Of course."

She turned again and struck off across the green, not looking back. Lissette fell in behind.

"Watch out for dragons," James muttered into his salad bowl.

"Ever meet a faun?" Iolanthe asked Lissette as they approached the woods.

"There's the one in Hogsmeade that recites poetry and plays the pan-pipes, but he seems quite domesticated. I've never met one in his native habitat," Lissette explained.

"One can't guarantee a faun siting, but luck may be with us," Iolanthe said as the two followed a path through the wood's edge. Iolanthe stopped a little way in and listened. Very little was stirring, which was normal for midday in July. Iolanthe started down the path again.

"Our faun neighbor, Plum, introduced himself to Father before the house was complete. It wasn't to his taste, and Father had put it where the old house stood. The woodlanders had incorporated that piece into their reveling grounds," Iolanthe explained. "Well, you've seen the view from there. It's no wonder they grew fond of it. Father negotiated with Plum, and got Plum to admit they'd had the revels over this way when the old house was still around. Father set aside the green and these woods for Plum and his woodland companions.

"Father also worked the conversation around to his late father, James, and, believe it or not, James Potter, as a young swell, attended some revels. It's indelicate to ask too much about the elder James, as it seems he was a bit of a rounder as a youth. Still, Harry, James Greengrass, the twins and I myself am here thanks to James' foresight in fathering issue, so we must respect that."

"Have you been to any?" Lissette asked. "Revels?"

"Not officially," Iolanthe answered, leaving it there.

A shortish, manlike being in a swallowtail coat stood blocking the path.

"Not officially what?" he demanded. "You Potters aren't up to anything, are you?"

"Plum!" Iolanthe exclaimed. "Hello! How are you?"

"Oh, shall we do the niceties, then?" Plum asked. "Hello, Iolanthe, how nice to see you again, and this is your friend? Well, isn't that wonderful? Now, what is not, officially?"

"I have not, officially, attended a revel," Iolanthe answered. "My recollection is that we are in complete agreement?"

"Ah, yes," Plum said, "You will be allowed to attend when you're a little older. Until then, you have not yet been to a revel."

"Plum, you are my favorite faun in the whole world," Iolanthe said. "This is my friend Lissette Lestrange, from Hogwarts. She's spending the summer with the family. Lissette, this is Plum."

"Pleased to meet you, Plum," said Lissette. "These are nice woods."

"Thank-you," Plum said. "You're welcome anytime. Can we show you around?"

"We're passing through," Iolanthe answered. "We're going to walk some lanes, see what's stirring. Anything interesting going on here?"

"Of course," said Plum. "The usual. Midsummer was the big party, as you know. Now we plan for December."

"Uh-huh," Iolanthe said, matching her pace to the faun's. "What's to plan?"

"The bonfire, for one thing," Plum replied.

"That's a stretch," Iolanthe observed. "Did James cut your wood last month? I hear he's gotten good at that."

"Miss Iolanthe," Plum pleaded, "A little discretion, please. We're woodlanders, not one of your human engineers."

"My apologies, if I've given offense," Iolanthe said. "The wood's edge is in sight. Thank you for the escort, Plum. Now, should Lissette find herself lost in the woods, could I impose on you and your brethren? An escort back to Potter Manor would be very kind on your part, and most appreciated by His Lordship."

"Miss Iolanthe," Plum answered, extending his hand to grasp Iolanthe's fingertips, over which he bowed, before brushing them with his lips. "Miss Lissette is safe here, I give you my word."

Following a round of 'Good-byes' Iolanthe and Lissette walked out of the woods and entered a shady track, narrow even by country lane standards. The only life that seemed to be up and about was insect, and those buzzes and drones were sounding very perfunctory. Iolanthe scanned the break between grass and the worn track, looking for snakes, without any success.

"What are we looking for?" Lissette asked.

"Anything," Iolanthe answered. "Something to record in my journal. If it holds still it gets turned into a sketch. I like magical creatures. I started documenting the wildlife around here years ago. Now it's habit. Is there anything you feel like you're drawn to? Not necessarily animals. James and plants have a special relationship."

"You'll laugh if I tell you," Lissette said. It sounded like she was stifling a laugh, herself, even as she said it.

"Too weird?" Iolanthe asked. "Fine. Just so you know, we're witches. It's all weird."

Lissette thought that over while they walked.

"Water," she said, eventually. "Any kind of water. I enjoy being in water, and doing things with water. We're mostly water, you know."

"We are," confirmed Iolanthe. "And you…like…"

"I like water the way you like animals," Lissette finished up. "One part hydrogen, two parts oxygen. Muggle chemists and our alchemists agree. A very simple proposition. Earth, Air, Fire, all complicated, Water, simple. Understandable. Very cooperative, if approached properly, with love and respect. It likes to be useful."

"Not sure I understand, but okay," Iolanthe said, continuing to scan ahead for wildlife.

"You know your Mill?" Lissette asked, trying another approach.

"Sure," said Iolanthe.

"The mill stream likes filling your pond. It likes the trout and the water plants. It really liked it when the millers ground the grain. It felt needed. It likes doing useful work. Who is the other Iolanthe? Besides you?" Lissette asked.

"Several times great-grandmother, not sure how many greats," Iolanthe said. "She was a Peverell, married into the Potters. There were no more male Peverells, so she brought The Mill to the marriage, and a few other things."

"Well, your several times great-grandmother Iolanthe Peverell Potter is very highly thought-of by your bodies of water, Iolanthe," Lissette said. "Their memories are long."

Iolanthe hadn't considered bodies of water as having memories before.

"You know this how?" Iolanthe asked, softening the challenge a little with, "If you don't mind my asking."

"The party the other day, for my birthday," said Iolanthe. "I just got the sense that they did."

Iolanthe continued on, looking for wildlife. She was considering some scat on the track when a doe appeared, stepping out of a little clump of brush and briars at the corner of a field.

"Aha," said Iolanthe, keeping her voice down. "Where's the boyfriend?"

The doe flipped her tail up and down.

"Be careful, beautiful," Iolanthe said, "This looks like dragon spoor to me. Keep looking up."

The doe obeyed, then looked back. She snorted once, spun and dashed away, tail straight up.

"Here's where we turn," Iolanthe said to Lissette. "Wonder what that was all about?"

"One of us needs to learn deer, it seems," Lissette answered. "They must be drawn to you."

"Why should that be, do you suppose?" Iolanthe asked. "I have speculated a bit, I'll confess, but there's no pattern. Nothing points to a reason. Maybe it's meant to be a mystery."

They came to a little soggy spot in the track. It was a minor waterway, so minor, in fact, that no one had ever bothered to excavate for a culvert to direct the water under the lane. The field was sown in oats, which were now full height, the grains fully formed in the heads, and the stalks beginning to lose their green color.

"If we follow this seep, it gets a little bigger over there at the other side, then it joins the mill stream. We can follow it to The Mill, take tea, and go on back in time for swimming at Greengrass Manor," Iolanthe said. "Just so we stay along the edge and don't hurt the oats."

"Sounds like good times," Lissette said.

It was a short walk to the intersection of the runoff from the seep to the junction with the feeder stream, then another ten minutes to the mill stream. Iolanthe led the say downstream to The Mill. Lissette stopped on the stone bridge to look at the water.

"Nice pool there," she said.

"Yeah," Iolanthe agreed. "It's deep enough to sit down in. There's a sandy bottom. It's cold, though."

"Really?" Lissette asked. "Do we have time? Could I just…"

"Go wading?" Iolanthe asked. "Why not? Yes, there's time."

Iolanthe went on to the table under the arbor and removed a metal container from her satchel. She hung the satchel by its strap over the back of one of the chairs. The container, a metal tube with a screw cap closure, was something muggles had come up with. It kept beverages hot or cold, depending on your preference. The muggles, though, had not thought to incorporate one critical option—if the beverage was cold, it stayed cold, and if hot, it stayed hot. Tea was truly problematical because one might start the day with hot, but if the day became warm, by lunch time one could have changed one's mind and desired iced tea. Why hadn't they equipped the thing with the muggle equivalent of ' _proxima reverso'_? It seemed so obvious. Iolanthe drew her wand and pointed it at the metal container, casting a cooling charm. If the muggles were incapable of finishing the job, she'd do it herself. Now, where was Lissette?

Leaving the container under the arbor, Iolanthe walked back to the stone footbridge. She looked over the parapet into the clear water below and saw Lissette, naked, completely immersed, her black hair stretched out in the current.

"Lissette!" Iolanthe shouted as she sprinted around the end of the parapet and down the bank, straight out into the middle of the stream. She thrust one arm underneath Lissette's shoulders, reaching across to grab her upper arm and pull the young woman's head and torso above water.

"Lissette! Lissette! Can you hear me? Ohhhh…" Iolanthe moaned. "How am I going to get you out of here?

"Why do you want to get me out of here?" Lissette asked, blinking water out of her eyes.

"Lissette! Are you alright?" Iolanthe demanded. "I thought you had drowned. What were you doing, we're supposed to go swimming later this afternoon! Look at me!"

Iolanthe knelt in front of her friend, looking her in the eye.

"Lissette, tell me the truth," said Iolanthe. "Were you trying to commit suicide?"

Lissette Lestrange started to laugh.

"No," she said. She laughed harder.

"No."

Iolanthe stood up but didn't make a move toward the bank.

"I love water," Lissette said. "It's like I told you. Running water, streams, rivers. Outside, free-running water. I hardly ever got a chance to do this. Three times in my whole life. I can remember every detail of each one."

"So taking a shower…" Iolanthe offered.

"Showers and baths get me wet but they don't do a whole lot for me," Lissette went on. "Someone has tamed that water, haven't they? But this…"

Lissette lay back down in the sandy-bottomed pool, letting her arms, legs and hair drift out into the current. Iolanthe thought she saw Lissette give a little shudder. Lissette pulled her feet back underneath herself, raised her head out and pushed back upright.

"I can get dressed now, I suppose," she said, swiping at the places where grains of sand stuck to her skin. "Oh, look—you're soaked!"

"Not a problem," Iolanthe said. "In this heat I'll be dry in two minutes. The tea is ready."

Lissette shook all over, picked up her clothes and shoes and followed Iolanthe back across the bridge.

"Tell you what," said Iolanthe, getting an idea. "Let's make some use of this place."

Ten minutes later they were getting dressed in The Baths.

"Too hot for the steam rooms today," Iolanthe said as she pulled on her shirt. Her drying charm took care of the clothing but she would still need to spend some time with her shoes.

"Mustn't overdo. I'll show you how those work when it gets cooler. Just hang the towel on the bar. Winky will be thrilled to hear we've made a mess. Now," said Iolanthe, changing direction, "You're going to join me for some iced tea and tell me what was going on in that mill stream."

Lissette spent the next ten minutes explaining to Iolanthe, over their tea, how she had discovered her affinity for wild water.

"When I was eleven, the summer before I started at Hogwarts, someone took a little group of prospective first-years who'd been studying together on a picnic. A tributary of the Aln ran through a parent's land and we went out there to watch birds and poke sticks in the mud and have a few treats. I walked upstream a bit and found a little waterfall. Something spoke to me. Not words, just feelings, if we can feel a song being sung by water. Off with the shoes, off with the skirt and blouse, and in I went. I walked right into the waterfall and stood there with it coming down over my head. My toes curled up and this wonderful feeling started, _down there_ , before it went up, to the top of my head, then it crashed down all the way to the soles of my feet, up and down, like waves, five or six times."

"I've never heard or even read of such a thing," Iolanthe said. "What you describe sounds like…"

"Uh-huh," Lissette said, giving Iolanthe a big smile, "It is. That's how I do it. There aren't normal feelings inside me. I told Lady Daphne so I might as well tell you. The only way I've been able to explain it to myself is the emotions were left out when I was made. I don't feel drawn to men or women, in a physical way. There's just nothing there. I used to think they'd come, eventually. We all mature at different rates, of course. Some of the girls, when I was a first-year, got bad crushes at the sorting ceremony. Drove us nearly crazy having to listen to it in the dormitory."

Iolanthe had to laugh. She'd seen the same thing in her class. She wondered how Scorpius and Rose managed their feelings, for that matter, they both had such an abundance.

"I think, possibly, mine have been redirected," Lissette said. "The Lafleur people didn't do me any good. Emotionally. Besides, maybe I was just meant to love water."

Lissette's comment got to Iolanthe again. When the laughter let her, Iolanthe said, "Drink up. We'll have to walk or we'll miss out on the actual recreational swim."

"I thought you'd drowned," Iolanthe said as they passed the mill stone.

"Oh," said Lissette. "Sorry. I can stay under a long time."

"Makes sense," Iolanthe acknowledged. "If I interrupted your…experience, I'm sorry."

It was Lissette's turn to snicker.

"It's not your responsibility to worry about any of that," she said. "I'll manage it, somehow. I have done a little reading, although the literature is sparse. Of course I'm curious. It would be nice to know if there are others, or if I'm a complete freak."

"I'm pretty sure you're not a freak, Lissette," Iolanthe said, "You're just magical."

They walked up the path to the house, entering by the front door.

"Hello?" Iolanthe called out. A patronus in the form of a big cat came charging down the central hall. Iolanthe braced for its jump into her arms, holding it while the lynx licked her face. When it stopped, Daphne's voice came from the lynx.

"Sweetheart," said Daphne's voice, "We've gone to Greengrass Lake, so take the floo if you want to swim. Your father had to go to London. See you soon."

"Okay, go back to Mother. We're on our way," Iolanthe told the lynx. "This way."

Harry had been cagey about his plans, other than he'd be going back to #12 Grimmauld Place. He made sure Tracey and Daphne heard him give the destination when he'd left by floo. The truth was a bit more involved. He'd been invited to coffee by Kingsley, the venue to be the Leaky Cauldron, upstairs in one of the guest rooms.

Neville Longbottom, former auror, had commandeered a suite years before and kept it in reserve for the minister's use. The latest privacy charms were always in place. If Kingsley gave an hour's notice, the charms would be updated before he arrived. The arrangement was unofficial, strictly between Kingsley and Neville. Senior ministry officials, such as Harry, understood they could use the suite only after clearing it with Kingsley. Neville didn't charge the ministry, so there was no trail of parchment to be discovered. As long as they didn't overdo it, there was no reason even a close observer would figure out the comings and goings.

Harry took a roundabout route to the Leaky Cauldron from #12, going to the ministry by floo, then walking through the atrium on his way to the reserved apparation points, whence he apparated on to his preferred spot near his flat. He walked the short distance to the flat without concealment. Once in his building, he checked all his alarms and added one ward to his door. He used the floo to get to the Leaky Cauldron, avoiding the main fireplace by exiting the system via the kitchen. The elves all looked about to greet him until Harry put his finger to his lips, leaving via the door to the rear stairs.

"Come in," sounded from inside the room at Harry's knock. He slipped inside.

"Minister," he said.

"Harry, have a seat. Coffee?" Kingsley asked, gracious as ever.

"Please," Harry answered.

"Harry, thanks for coming. I apologize for the drama. It appears we need to keep you obscured for another day or two," Kingsley began. "Your deputy. Tchk. If she isn't unaware she is doing one incredible acting job. Another piece of parchment I really needed to see concerning the Lafleur crowd was available this morning and she didn't include it in my reading, nor anyone else's. Ralph wants to bring her in for a conversation, of course. I'd like to let the investigators have one more day before we tip our hand."

"However you want to play it, Minister," Harry said. "I'm a spectator for this one."

"Actually, Harry, you're key to the whole thing," Kingsley advised, "Putting that ambiguous story out gave Fiona the confidence to overplay a bit. The skimming was bad. Abusing minors is very bad. The double dealing compounds both of those. Same for Bart. Which brings up…"

"No thank-you," Harry said.

"Harry?"

"Sorry, that was rude of me. I owe you better than that," Harry said. "How can I help?"

"Have someone in mind to bring over to Fiona's desk," Kingsley said. "Be prepared for some temporary duty."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, "Again, sorry for the jumpiness."

"The jumpiness is a human characteristic, Harry," said Kingsley, "A welcome phenomenon, from my perspective. Anything in particular eating at you?"

"I'm going to rely on your discretion, Minister," Harry said. "When I was traveling, towards the end, I went to Cebu, in the Philippines. I met a judo instructor. He is a wizard, and after a couple of lessons he recognized me. I became his student, full-time. His name is…"

"Francisco," Kingsley said. "So that is where you learned your technique. I always wondered."

"Yes, Master Francisco," Harry confirmed. "He is my teacher. He also taught Michel Lestrange, who now calls himself Jacques Lafleur. I'm also still pissed at that hit piece in the Daily Prophet, which I can't prove but believe was planted by Lafleur or someone working for him. That upset some family members. Goes with the job, I understand."

"What will you be expected to do to Lestrange?" Kingsley asked.

"Stop him," said Harry. "The teachings of Master Francisco's lineage are restricted for good reason. In the proper context we wizards work through them to master ourselves, or, as in my case, to put ourselves back together. Outside of the lines they corrupt and destroy. I'll give him the opportunity to see his error and get on the correct path. If he pushes back, I promise to minimize the mess."


	42. Chapter 42

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Forty-Two

Metamorphoses

Harry took another disjointed route back to #12 Grimmauld Place. He didn't think there was any way he could join his family at Greengrass Manor for an afternoon swim. Thus liberated, he let his imagination run free, not thinking ahead to his next few blocks' walk or apparation, deciding only after he had reached a destination. Nevertheless, Kreacher was opening the door to #12 just as Harry's foot materialized on the top step.

"Lord Harry, welcome home," said the elf, adding a deep bow.

"Thank-you, Kreacher," Harry said. "How are things here at home?"

"Going very well, milord," said Kreacher. "Iced tea and lemonade are ready, if you require refreshment. Coffee and tea won't take but a minute, if you prefer."

"It's a beautiful day for a lemonade in the garden," Harry said. "I'll just be out there."

Harry was looking at the brick-bordered beds when Kreacher returned with the lemonade. He stood in the little patch of afternoon sunshine, admiring all of James' and Teddy's work. It was hard to remember how the garden had looked before they had taken it on. He thought about all the significant Potter moments associated with the garden. Many of those would have looked to an outsider like nothing more than a man having a conversation with his wife over tea. Such was the nature of his life with Daphne. The most ordinary became extraordinary if Daphne were part of it. Harry resolved to be more regular in his declarations of love and affection, if Daphne would permit.

Looking at his watch, Harry decided he'd given anyone looking to drop by and start a ruckus more than sufficient time to do so. Taking his lemonade glass with him, he walked to the kitchen and put the glass in the sink.

"Have to go catch up with the family, Kreacher," Harry said. "One of us will get back to you soon."

"Kreacher will be here, Lord Harry," the elf assured him.

Harry took a guess that some or all of the family would be at Greengrass Manor, stepped in the fireplace and dropped his floo powder.

"Grandmother?" Iolanthe had called out when she arrived in the library fireplace with Lissette.

No one answered so she led the way through the house and out to the patio. Two people and an undetermined number of elves were at work in a bed about halfway down the hill.

"You didn't feel like swimming?" Iolanthe asked James when she and Lissette reached the working party. "Hullo, Grandfather."

Fabio was on his knees pulling up brown stalks so Iolanthe had him trapped. She wrapped both arms around his shoulders and planted a kiss on his cheek, finishing up with a loud 'Smack!'

"Iolanthe Astoria," Fabio said. "You Davis women…"

"You get another one for that," Iolanthe said, making good on it. "They're at the lake?"

"So they said," Fabio answered.

"Okay, see you later," said Iolanthe, grabbing James' forearm for a little squeeze as she left, Lissette trailing after.

"Where is the lake?" Lissette asked as they reached the bottom of the hill. She didn't see anything but the expansive, neatly-clipped green with fields on the far side.

A little white dog, all wet and smelly ran up, barking.

"Show us the lake, Raffles!" Iolanthe called out. The little dog popped out of existence. "We'll follow him, and…"

They crossed the threshold, or passed through the portal, and Greengrass Lake appeared before them. Raffles ran back to the lake to cavort in the shallows. Four witches were minding a pair of babies in little floats.

"Swimsuits?" Iolanthe called out.

"Nah…it's all witches," Daphne answered.

"Okay, be right there," said Iolanthe. "This way to the cabana."

Getting swim-ready didn't take much time. Clothes on pegs, Iolanthe led the way to the open side and jumped in, feet first. She quickly swam away to clear a space for Lissette, who jumped as soon as she judged it safe.

"Whooo!" said Lissette, delighted, obviously, to be back in water. "How…?"

"The only one who really knows is Grandfather, and he won't tell," Iolanthe said. "Look over here."

Iolanthe swam to the middle of the lake with Lissette just as Daphne had done with Harry, Iolanthe and James.

"Look," she said, indicating the hill rising up to the house.

"Merlin!" said Lissette. "That's the most beautiful…"

Iolanthe kept silent. She knew very well what Lissette was feeling. She felt it too. Still, there is only one first time. Lissette was entitled to look in astonishment, for as long as she was astonished.

They stayed there, arms and legs slowly stroking the water, heads just above the surface. Eventually, Lissette broke the silence.

"You grew up with this?" she asked.

"Yes, as long as I can remember," Iolanthe told her. "Grandfather worked on it for years. Mother helped. She was really little when they started. Those are her palm trees, and the cabana out over the water. This is where Grandfather and Grandmother took Mother, Auntie Astoria and Tracey swimming. Mother and Father brought James and me, when we came along. Well, let's go check babies."

Iolanthe rolled over and began swimming toward the group.

Lissette dived, disappearing completely. Iolanthe started to get worried when she didn't come up, but Lissette popped to the surface next to the witches, a good twenty-five yards ahead of Iolanthe. Merlin! Could she transform into a dolphin?

"Hullo, all," Iolanthe said as she put her feet down on the sandy bottom. "Grandmother, you look so fit!"

"It's the water, dear," Kendra said, "It cancels out all the sagging."

Tracey and Daphne whooped, while Zelda looked off into the distance.

"How are the lads?" Iolanthe asked. "Are they natural swimmers?"

"That's hard to say since they're riding these little magical floaties," Daphne answered. Lissette saw the twins were bobbing up and down in the water, their middles, from armpits down to mid-thighs inside air bubbles that somehow never popped. "How was the hike?"

"One deer, and something that looked to me like dragon spoor," said Iolanthe. "No dragons or other sign, though. If one were around, there ought to be some burnt patches in the vegetation or a mess left over from a meal. It merits some more investigation."

Iolanthe stayed out of Lissette's episode in the stream. If Lissette wanted to talk it over with Daphne, that was her business.

"Want to swim?" Iolanthe asked Lissette. "Don't think you have to hang around here."

"Oh, alright, thanks," Lissette said. She lay face down into the water and kicked off the bottom. Within seconds she was yards away. She went feet-up and disappeared.

"She really likes water," Iolanthe explained. "Zelda! Did you get your fill of flying?"

Zelda's face lit up.

"No," she said, "But I do like to swim, too. I have to exercise. I can't just fly."

"You're a pro, Zelda," Iolanthe said, "A pro, and a star. We brag about you all the time."

Zelda looked embarrassed, a little.

"Who does?" she challenged Iolanthe. "Name one."

"All of us," said Iolanthe, "All the cousins. None of us have set any school records. Yet. We'd bore people to death except they all want to listen to us brag about you."

Zelda wouldn't look at her, but Iolanthe could see she was smiling. Iolanthe turned her attention to pushing floating babies back and forth between the adult witches. Sun was soaked up. Bits of gossip, cloaked in news items, provided the stuff of light conversation.

With the onset of some skin wrinkling, Daphne looked up at the sun.

"Probably about time. I hate to go in, but the young wizards…"

"I think I'll swim back. Want to come along?" Iolanthe asked Zelda. They took off for the cabana at the end of the pier, swimming a leisurely sidestroke so they could stay together and chat. Zelda was keeping her head out of the water. She planned her swimming around how much time she wanted to spend on her hair after getting out of the water. Today she wore a stretchy cap, not unlike a muggle swim cap, over her hair, topping that off with a towel wrapped like a turban, held in place with a charm Tracey'd shown her.

"Got your stuff for fall term?" Iolanthe asked.

"Most of it," said Zelda. "Mum wants to wait until closer to start of term before buying clothes. She says I grow so fast everything would be tight before I got to school."

"You are growing," Iolanthe said, "Shooting up. We all see it. How tall is your dad?"

"Around six, six-one, I think," said Zelda. "Pretty tall."

"I wouldn't be surprised if you catch him," Iolanthe said.

"I wish…" Zelda started, then stopped.

"Give it time," Iolanthe said. "You're twelve."

"Not that," Zelda said, "I meant…I wish…they'd get married. Or at least move in together."

"Oh, yes, well, Zelda," Iolanthe stalled, trying to think. "Have you talked to Tracey? She is sure to have her own thoughts on that. She loves you. She won't be mad if you want to talk."

"We HAVE talked," Zelda answered, sounding a bit put out. "I talk to Dad, too. All they say is they both love me and they think this is the best way for all of us. It's like talking to the wall. I just wish my dad came home at night and we put dinner on the table and sat down to eat like a family."

"I know you do, baby, I know you do," said Iolanthe. They were barely making headway. If they made it to the piling and the ladder up to the cabana they'd have to stop talking. Iolanthe sensed Zelda had been wanting, perhaps needing, to have this conversation with someone. She wasn't sure she was the right one, but she hadn't been the right one to help Lissette out of her difficulties, either. It had all just fallen on her. Iolanthe could see Daphne, back in her clothes, standing in the open side of the cabana, keeping an eye on them.

"Maybe you can look at it in a positive light," tried Iolanthe. "You and I have this big, odd, fun family, you're an essential part of it, and everyone likes and respects one another. Some people our age don't have anything like that. Some have families with yelling and screaming and hexing and beating one another up. You've probably heard of that going on. I know I have. We're both very lucky. Your mum and dad get along. They respect each other, that is obvious. The three of you do things together. Maybe not as much as you'd like, but they are smart, and they love you. If they think they could do better for you by getting together, I believe they would do it. Since they haven't, you can choose to trust their judgment, or choose not to. Just consider, when you're choosing, the possibility they might know what they're doing."

Zelda was still moving slowly, barely stroking with her flattened hands, yet managing to keep her entire, fully-wrapped head up and out of the water.

'Merlin,' thought Iolanthe. 'That witch is an athlete.'

Zelda changed the direction of the conversation once more, again without warning.

"Are you going to treat mental maladies, too?" she asked.

"What?" asked Iolanthe.

"Talking to you is like talking to Daphne," Zelda said. "I feel a lot better now. Are you going to specialize in mental maladies? Because I think you should."

"Maybe it's inherited, like a talent for something," Iolanthe speculated, "Suppose it was passed down from Great-grandmother Davis, through Grandmother, to Mother. Which means you could be the next one."

They had reached the piling with the ladder. Iolanthe stood off several yards so she wouldn't be beneath the climbing Zelda. It looked like Zelda was going up hand over hand, her feet barely touching the rungs. Iolanthe swam over and began to climb.

Iolanthe and Zelda toweled off and got dressed, but there was still no sign of Lissette. Daphne was getting worried.

"Iolanthe…"

"Let's see," said Iolanthe as she located her wand. She stood on the edge of the decking and put the wand tip to her throat.

"Lissette! Come in now, we're going!" she said.

Something broke the surface just beyond the big corner piling. Lissette shot out of the water to about halfway up the ladder, reached out and grabbed a rung.

"Whoo!" she said as she began to climb, her entire face a smile. "That was fun!"

Iolanthe called for Melon and asked her to dry the cabana floor and take the towels for a wash, then waited as first Zelda and then Lissette finished up dressing.

"How was the lake?" asked Iolanthe. "It's not running, like the stream."

"No, there's no current," Lissette agreed. "It's nice though. Friendly, I'd say. It wants to be liked. Most water is indifferent, at least to humans. Reciprocating our feelings, is my guess."

"Did anyone discuss dinner plans before we got here?" Iolanthe asked.

"It sounded like everyone is staying," Zelda said.

The three young witches walked back along the pier toward land.

"Did your grandfather make any more of these?" Lissette asked.

"Not that I know of," Iolanthe said, "Have you heard of any, Zelda?"

"Nope," Zelda said. "I believe this is the only one."

"That's not to say he didn't do some lily ponds or use water in projects he designed for people," said Iolanthe. "He was becoming a sought-after magical landscape architect before any of us were around, according to Mother. That came to an end because he had to take on more and more responsibility for the Greengrass businesses. The previous generation didn't do very well by them, at the end, is my understanding. So Grandfather turned his talents to business and restored us to respectability. We're all quite mad for him."

"I noticed," Lissette said. "Well, it would be hard to miss."

They had reached the patio. James sat in one of the chairs that matched the patio table, a big pitcher of iced tea in front of him.

"Iced tea? You can each have your own glass," James said.

"James Greengrass," Iolanthe said, "Are you sure? Do you even know where to go to get another glass?"

"Sure," said James, "Trix!"

"Trix is here, Master James!" said the elf. "What can Trix do for Master James this afternoon?"

"The witches say they want to drink iced tea, and I only have the one glass," James said. "Can you help me?"

"Of course, Master James," Trix said, snapping her fingers and materializing three iced tea glasses.

"Such an efficient elf," James said.

Trix blushed and dematerialized.

"James Shameless Greengrass," Iolanthe began, then dropped it.

The noise level from inside picked up. Iolanthe had heard what she thought was the 'WHOOSH' of the floo earlier. She had been right, as Harry walked out onto the patio from the sunny room holding one baby, dressed in a fresh baby undershirt and shorts, upright against his chest, Kendra trailing with the other.

Harry looked around the patio, inventorying the children.

"You're all here. You could convene a meeting," Harry said. "Tell me about everyone's day."

"We learned to tell the twins apart," Iolanthe said, "Can you do that?"

"Of course," Harry said.

"Who do you have?" Iolanthe asked.

"Evans," Harry replied.

"You know this because…?"

"Your mother, who besides being a mother is a fully-qualified healer, handed him to me and said, 'Here, take Evans.'" Harry answered. "Thus…"

Evans wanted to get off Harry's shoulder and look around, so Harry sat down and held him facing outward on his lap

"Goo!" said Evans, delighted to see everyone.

Kendra placed a chair next to Harry's and sat down with Davis.

"Umm!" added Davis.

"Who are these people?" Harry asked. "Is that your big sister? Is that your big brother? What do you say?"

"Brrupppp!" said Evans, getting rid of a gas bubble and a bit of curdled milk.

"Oooooo!" said Davis, indicating approval.

The afternoon turned into evening. Dinner was a salad made from vegetables grown by Fabio and the elves, with generous dashes of input from James and Teddy, topped with seared tuna, olive oil Fabio imported from a private source in Sicily, and plenty of the Greengrass Manor variant of Mad Monk bread. Harry set a bad example for the children. He and Raffles, after a prolonged negotiation, shared a chair and little pinches of bread dipped in olive oil. Dessert was cheesecake, with choice of coffee or tea.

Harry and Daphne had met with Tracey earlier and took a collective decision to spend the night at Greengrass Manor. The breaking and entering at the flat had given everyone a start. If the director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was committing felonies at the behest of a cult leader, the potential for mayhem developing from a chance meeting was high.

The three main Potter residences were well known in wizarding circles, mainly because the Potter-Greengrass nexus was where Hogwarts, the Ministry of Magic, the Black family and Fabio's magical commodities network all came together. They were all inside magical cocoons of concealment, disillusionment and jinxes. Kendra and Daphne wore out volumes of witch lore researching new wards to establish. Even so, Harry had been inside the flat when Bart Fudge and the Nott he'd brought with him strolled in, literally, like they owned the place. No one thought that could, or would be repeated, but a little extra caution wouldn't hurt anything.

Greengrass Manor was filled with magical conveniences. It never ran out of bedrooms, for example. No matter how many people stayed over, Kendra always had one more room for the elves to make up. Tracey had always had her own room, since she had been raised, more or less, with Daphne and Astoria. Kendra did a little wand work and converted a very commodious room with a very commodious bed into a double with a pair of twins for Iolanthe and Lissette.

When everyone settled down, Iolanthe got Astoria's leather-bound Odyssey out of her satchel and lit a lamp. She lay in bed, reading silently, paying attention to the rhythm of the lines, hearing the timeless music of the great bard coming through Fitzgerald's English treatment. When she was really focused, Iolanthe was convinced she could hear her beloved aunt's voice reading to her, as she had done from the time Iolanthe was a toddler.

"Iolanthe?"

"Is the light bothering you?" Iolanthe asked. "I can stop reading."

"No, don't," said Lissette. "I just wanted to ask why you're so attached to that book. I see you reading it at school all the time. How many times have you read it?"

"I don't really know," answered Iolanthe. "Lots, though. My Aunt Astoria, who died last summer, was really very special. She and Mother kind of raised Scorpius and me as a unit. Then we got James and Zelda, who were literally days apart. Auntie Astoria and I were a match. I wanted, I still want, to be just like her. Someone she met on a trip recommended she read a bit of Homer every day. She tried it and liked it. She started reading _The Odyssey_ to Scorpius, and me, very early on. I fell completely under Homer's spell. Whether it is the poetry or Auntie, I don't know. I suspect both. We used to read it together, marathons, sitting down and reading until our voices didn't want to go on, trading back and forth. This is her copy of the Fitzgerald translation. She left it to me when…when she died."

"That is a beautiful story, Iolanthe," said Lissette. "I've never had anyone like that in my life. Read as long as you want. What is going on?"

"Some men were transformed into pigs," Iolanthe said.

"Oh," said Lissette, a bit of surprise audible in her tone. "That does sound interesting. G'night."

After his chat with Kingsley, Harry took it as read he was free to absent himself from public life until the minister recalled him. Kingsley had alluded to some expanded duties when the current investigation into the Jacques Lafleur group wound up. Harry resolved to lavish time and attention on his growing family as long as he had the luxury, along with Kingsley's forewarning.

After breakfast with Fabio and Kendra, the Potters, with Tracey, Zelda and Lissette, returned to Potter Manor. Harry and Tracey left the children with Daphne while they walked the perimeter wards. Satisfied all was quiet and regular, Tracey went to the house and Harry went on to the woods to look for Plum, who would have a solid report on anything out of the ordinary.

Harry and Plum burdened a fallen tree trunk for the better part of an hour. Harry gave Plum some background on the current situation, both the larger picture as well as the impact on the Potter family. It didn't pay to get overly detailed. Woodland fauns stayed away from the complications of human interactions for good reason. They led genuinely superior lives, in their view. The harmony between the natural environment and the wants and needs of the woodlanders was sufficient. The faun and his compatriots were repelled by the acquisitiveness of humans. Much as he enjoyed having the Potters around, Plum would never grasp Harry's taste in houses.

Satisfied the wards and woodland society had done a fine job keeping an eye on their country seat, Harry went looking for Potters to shape and influence. Harry worked his way through the house, accepting a cup of coffee from Periwinkle and stopping at the doors that led to the patio. He was standing there contemplating the landscape, both human and terrestrial when James walked up and stood beside him.

Daphne and Tracey lay back on chaises, absorbing a little morning sun before it started beating down in earnest, each with a baby stretched out across her torso under a gauzy baby blanket. Millicent had returned from somewhere and was leading Iolanthe and Lissette through some dueling forms, adjusting a foot, elevating an arm, very ballet-like.

"Maybe we should find someplace else," Harry said to James. "I do not like these odds."

"There's the greenhouse," James said. "It's time to thin the venomous tentacula."

"Let's go," Harry said, the prospect of working with a semi-intelligent, venomous plant far less daunting than disturbing a fairly-quiet nest of Slytherin witches.

After taking a roundabout route, James took some gear down from hooks on the backside of the greenhouse door and helped Harry get ready. The venomous tentacula had spirit but it wasn't particularly smart. The trick was to get the plant moving in one direction then come in from a blind side and pluck the stem right out of the soil, roots and all. A skilled move ended with a toss of the complete plant into a pre-positioned wooden box, whose hinged lid was quickly closed to disorient the plant and prevent a reflexive snap back at the gardener. Harry's primary duty was decoy, or, if one were unkind, bait to distract the plants from sensing James coming at their blind sides.

"I've been thinking about The Mill," Harry said as they worked.

"Don't we all?" replied James.

"Do you feel like taking on a little magical landscape design?" Harry asked.

"What do you have in mind?" asked James.

"A few enhancements," Harry said, "With due deference to preservation of the rustic charm. A large, flat boulder positioned near the stream for sitting on and listening to the water running over the gravel bar. A stand of aspen at a point beyond the pond so when we stand there on the berm feeding trout, we have those leaves fluttering. Then the leaves become gold in the fall. Things like that. We'd have to run everything by the fairies in advance, of course."

James thought the project over.

"That's some pretty advanced landscape design, Dad," said James. "When did this start?"

"I don't know," Harry answered, "Because I wasn't aware of anything starting. I suppose the first time I can say I was aware was around the time of Astoria's funeral, when I was wishing there were a place to go off alone and just listen to the creek. To tell you the truth, there were times I felt like I needed a private moment, to let the grief out. The rock would have been the place."

"I get it," James said. He kept quiet for a few minutes while they enjoyed the rhythm of their joint work.

"Don't misunderstand, Dad, please, but I don't think it would have hurt me any worse if it had been you or Mum," said James. Harry listened carefully. Expressing emotion, or volunteering to discuss the deeply-felt was not a very common James phenomenon.

"That's fine with me," Harry said. "Astoria was very gracious when I started to pull her sister away from her. She and your mum were very close, and that just naturally continued on when we all started having you children. That worked so well as long as we had her here with us. I'm glad you were able to be around her as long as you were. She was the best example I can think of for someone a young witch or wizard could emulate."

"Except for you and Mum," James added, pulling and tossing a tentacula in one smooth motion.

"Maybe excepting your mother," Harry said, "You don't necessarily want to go modeling yourself on me. I'm not the great humanitarian in the family."

"That's not your fault, though," James replied.

"Oh?" Harry said, a little amusement coming through. "Do go on."

"I do some reading, subjects other than botany," James said. "I also talk to Mum. Anyone can talk to her about anything."

"Pretty much," Harry said, "Which explains a great deal of our rapport."

"From what I've picked up, from her or the reading, I believe you ought to be commended for getting up and tying your shoes every morning," James said. "You were orphaned when your parents died by violence before you were two, you probably have residual suppressed memories of the attack on you, you were a magical child raised in an environment hostile to anything magical. Any one of those could have damaged a young wizard beyond repair."

"Thank-you for noticing," Harry said, trying for a little friendly flippancy. He wasn't sure he'd managed it.

"This is the truth, though, James," said Harry, "You're right. Without help, I'd probably have come apart by now. After Voldemort came back and showed his hand, I was marked for death, trying to go to school and get my homework in on time. Weird. Then the year on the run with Ron and Hermione, then the battle, then the big blowout afterwards. Two things saved me. I stumbled upon a teacher who kept me constructively occupied until my mind sorted itself out. Then when I was trying to fill the hole inside with work, having lost the only real romantic attachment I'd ever had, I got reacquainted with your mother. I guess she took pity on me and before long, someone loved me. There's some effective therapy."

Harry stopped there when a sniffle advised he'd soon be bawling like a baby.

"Sorry, there's no need to get maudlin," he said. "You're right, though. Very good. Are you going to follow in your mother's footsteps? Can you combine mental maladies and magical landscape architecture?"

"Oddly enough, yes," said James, "A thorough understanding of how wizard brains function, the afflictions peculiar to witches and wizards, carefully-planned and supervised gardening experiences, can all add up to a form of therapy. Troubled minds react positively to the creation of something beautiful. There is a school of thought that the activities required for gardening have therapeutic value."

Harry looked at his son. The children never stopped surprising him. Just when he thought he had figured one out, they confused him with some quick footwork and changed directions.

"So I'm going to get my rock? You've just said you think I need it, bad," Harry asked.

"Yes, we can do the rock," James said, "No, I didn't say that, exactly. Last one."

James closed the lid of the wooden box and fastened the clasp.

"Want to go take a look? The Slytherins appeared to me like they were happy having Slytherin Time on the patio."

"Sure," Harry said, taking note of the snark that would have been so at home in Gryffindor.

They kept some distance between themselves and Potter Manor, connected up with the lane that went to The Mill, and were soon at the wooden bench next to the mill stone.

"Best sit a few minutes and see if the fairies want to receive us," said Harry. "When did you start reading psychology?"

"Can't remember," James answered, "but it was before I went to Hogwarts. Mum's journals were always laying around. I couldn't understand a lot of it, but I liked looking up the words in the Healer's Dictionary. At some point I absorbed enough of the basics to make sense of the journal articles. It was something Mum and I could talk about."

Harry sat, silent, trying to remember Daphne saying anything about James' interest in her work. Nothing came to mind.

"There are a lot of wizards…," James began.

"Who could use…," Harry added, when James didn't go on.

The arrival of a delegation of fairies put an end to the idle chatter.

"Hullo, Harry, hullo, James," said the voice.

"Hullo to the fairies," Harry said. "How is everything at The Mill?"

"The fairies are at The Mill," said the voice.

"As always," Harry said. "James and I are visiting. The trout may be hungry."

Harry let his vague observation dangle.

"The trout appreciate Harry's crickets," said the fairies' voice, topping Harry's enigmatic comment. James caught the nuance and smiled.

"Well, we'll get going," said Harry.

They walked directly to, and over, the footbridge. Harry led the way upstream to the gravel bar that made the riffles. There was a cutback in the bank beneath an oak tree opposite. The oak's roots were exposed but it wasn't leaning over the stream. It was hard to tell from land, but the slow water across the way could have been hiding a pool ideal for harboring a great trout.

"This is the spot that I've been thinking about," Harry said. "It doesn't have to be here, but the water kind of sings as it crosses the bar, the tree casts a shadow in the afternoon, and there is good visibility so you can see anything walking up on you."

"Always a consideration," said James. He started walking a few yards this way and that, stopping and looking in different directions, moving to another spot and repeating the process.

"What kind of stone did you want? And, before we go further, are you set on a stone, or would you consider a wooden bench like the one by the mill stone, or perhaps a log cut length-wise placed on log sections? There are different ways to go about it."

"I was thinking of the stone," Harry said. "To be specific, those granite monoliths around Greengrass Manor were what I had in mind. It has to look natural, like the stone has been right here forever, or at least since a glacier dropped it."

"Got it," said James. "You don't want granite, then. There isn't any granite around the manor. We'll work something up."

James didn't go on about who 'we' were or what the 'something' was they'd work up. Apparently that was information Harry could live without. He fell in behind James, who was already headed back toward the footbridge.

Harry turned toward The Mill as soon as they crossed the stream.

"We'd better feed them," he said. James knew the drill. One of Astoria's final requests was more of a command to feed the trout. No one took the commission more seriously than Harry.

"Are we in danger, Dad?" James asked as they stood on the berm sending crickets out over the pond.

Harry didn't answer immediately.

"I don't think any of you are," he said. "The Lafleur organization appears to be your classic cult. The followers move up by submitting to more and more mind control. The mechanics of the cults are always the same. An irrational belief system preached by a charismatic personality, a little razzle-dazzle the low-levels haven't seen before, de-personalization with greater and greater demonstrations of loyalty by the followers. Eventually, we observe loss of free will and the leader has an instrument he or she can wield for some purpose. The question at hand is, what is that purpose? But, no, I don't think you nor your mum nor any of the family is threatened."

"You left yourself out," James observed as he sent a dried cricket arching out over the pond.

"James…I'm…I'm different," Harry said. "I know that isn't very satisfactory, but can it do for now? I have my reasons."

James picked another cricket out of the jar.

"I know," he said. "There were plenty of people at Hogwarts willing to fill in the blank spaces in my Potter knowledge. I let them. There's always more to learn."

"Oh, James," Harry said, "I'm so sorry. I know what you must think of me."

"What do you mean, think of you?" James asked, a little bristling coming through.

"Well, all of the fighting, death, destruction, carnage. Even if they exaggerated, there is enough truth there," Harry said. "We weren't planning campaigns of conquest, we were just trying to stay alive another day. That stuff, once it starts, no one can control how it will end. I hurt people. People who followed me hurt more people. Afterwards, with the aurors, I just wanted to be part of putting wizardry back together. Imperfect as it may be, policing appears to be essential for a functioning society. I'm glad my friends and I were able to help get the world straight again, but there are people in this country who have a right to be pissed at us."

James stopped feeding trout and stood on the berm, looking at Harry in astonishment.

"Dad," he began, "I think you are a true hero. Wizards my age owe you everything. Everything, Dad. We're back on our feet thanks to you. If you had to send a few madmen and career criminals to Hades so we could have a chance at life, good on ya. You feel bad because you had to hurt some people. People who wouldn't have felt bad about hurting you. That's hard to understand.

"Are the Lafleurs after you because of Voldemort?"

"No," Harry said, sighing. "It's personal. When I was traveling, I submitted myself to the discipline of a school, wizards who follow an esoteric practice, something passed down, mists of time, that sort of thing. Lafleur was a student in my master's school. Understand, this is very volatile knowledge. We work with it to master ourselves. We take a vow not misuse it, including doing tricks for money. Lafleur, whose name is really Lestrange, has gone rogue. He'd been dismissed before I got there, for misusing the knowledge, but it's a good bet he knows about me, and knows I know about him."

"Merlin, Dad!" James exclaimed. "Another Lestrange! Is Lissette part of this?"

"It doesn't appear she is," Harry said. "As you will have guessed, given the resources available to me and certain colleagues, some research has already been done. If she's a distant relative she's a third cousin or further. I don't even know if she's aware Jacques Lafleur is a Lestrange. From what I understand, if her stepfather was acting at the museum he really threw himself into the role. If she's part of a plot it is a darn complicated one."

"Yeah, it sounds like it," James said.

"Well, one more thing to do," Harry said, putting the cover on the cricket jar. They walked back to the mantle and put the jar next to Astoria's picture, getting another huge stage wink for their efforts. Harry led the way back outside.

"We'll just pass along what we've been doing and how we're thinking of our project, in case the inhabitants would like a public comment period," Harry said, sitting down on the bench by the door.

The fairies returned, starting with ones and twos. Pretty soon there was a good-sized ball of little lights hanging in the air in front of the bench.

"James Greengrass thinks he can arrange for a nice piece of stone for us to sit upon, up the stream and across from that oak that makes the big shady patch," Harry said.

The buzzing started. Harry never had discovered what that was, but assumed it was indicative of a collective thinking or discussion process. Harry wondered how far the information went. He had gotten used to the idea that the fairies saw all kinds of people, back to Iolanthe Peverell, at least, sitting with James and him on the bench. He had avoided trying to pass messages through the fairies. Communication with the dead, no matter the mechanism, was rarely a good idea.

"A rock is pleasant for sitting," the fairies' voice said.

"We would like to thank the fairies for greeting us today," Harry said as he stood, leading James to stand up as well.

"It is pleasant talking to the fairies," Harry finished.

"James and Harry are welcome," said the fairies' voice as the ball of tiny lights separated.

Harry looked up when he heard the 'pop' from the direction of the flat spot everyone used for apparation and reached for the knob end of his wand, inside his sleeve and just above the band of his watch. He was both surprised and not surprised to see Bart Fudge and his sidekick Nott walking towards James and himself, wands drawn.

"Let me see your hands, Harry," said Fudge. "You too, son. No need for you to get hurt."

"Bart, you came to Astoria's funeral. You know you're treading on sacred Potter soil," Harry said.

"Thanks for the tip, Harry, really," said Fudge. "Now, much as it pains me to do this here, I must advise you that you are under arrest. There are certain irregularities in your department's accounts, for which you must answer. You're an experienced public servant, so I'm certain you'll come along with no fuss or bother. If you cooperate in the investigation you'll do a few months in Azkaban and be back with the family by the first of the year."

"Uh-huh," Harry said, "And you are blowing smoke because you would have sent Ralph to see me and bring me in if you had proper cause. How are you going to explain your warrantless search of my flat?"

"There was no such search," Fudge spluttered. Fudge turned red. Nott turned to Fudge.

"You said…" Nott began.

"Shut it!" Fudge ordered.

"Ha!" Harry semi-exploded, "Next time you plot a crime with Bart, Mr. Nott, toss the place, no matter what he says. Always remember, sometimes a museum piece is just a museum piece, except when it's not."

Fudge probably knew at that point that it was all over. Harry Potter, who had somehow contrived to record their presence inside his London apartment, was quoting words Fudge had spoken during the actual crime. Still, he was able to switch gears and continue the charade for a bit longer.

"You…you…," Fudge tried, his right hand, which held his wand, getting twitchy. Fudge was a bureaucrat, and a good one. He'd never been much of a fighter, though, using magic as a convenience, signing and sealing and breaking into Harry's flat with his wand, doing a journeyman's job overseeing his department. Harry could see Fudge thinking it over, so he got ready in case the director made the wrong decision.

It was such a great relief when it happened. Harry had drawn deep to find the patience to let Fudge make the first move. Had he had less experience Harry would have gotten tired of waiting and simply dispatched the less-capable men before him. As it was, Fudge preserved some twisted version of self-esteem by casting a fairly competent ' _stupefy_ ,' which Harry met by swinging his left arm across before James and himself, not bothering to draw his wand, thinking ' _protego_ ' before watching Fudge and Nott topple like duckpins from the rebounding jinx. Harry's wand hummed a bit as they walked over to look at the intruders.

To give them just credit, Fudge and Nott managed to struggle to their feet, even keeping their wands in hand. Fudge got his up when Harry was still a good ten feet away.

"Oh, not again," Harry said.

"We're made of sterner stuff than that, Potter!" Fudge shouted, Harry's gentle handling of the jinx apparently having had the perverse effect of insulting Fudge's magical pride.

"Not you, Bart," Harry said, gesturing behind them, "Iolanthe and that blasted dragon."

Fudge and Nott turned around to see Gorr alighting soundlessly a short distance back in the direction of Potter Manor. Gorr stood on her hind legs, wings spread, and her head cocked back, inducing the universal human race memory of the last conscious thought of someone about to die of incineration by dragon.

Too terrified to remember they could disapparate, Fudge and Nott ran screaming away from Harry, James, The Mill, and Gorr, straight into several acres of fallow land still choked with tall dried grass stems from the previous summer.

"Good luck with that," James observed, surprised the two made it as far into the grasses as they did before getting wrapped up, tripping and falling forward.

"Lot of snakes in there," Iolanthe pointed out. Harry looked around for the dragon, seeing only Iolanthe, and Lissette just behind her.

"Was that Gorr?" he asked. "Where'd she go?"

"It wasn't Gorr, it was me," said Iolanthe, "Plus an illusionment charm to make me look like Gorr. With one little _revelio_ , my story collapses. Good thing they didn't think to try that."

"Well done, Iolanthe," James said, his face alight with an astonished smile. "That was very well done."

Iolanthe looked like she would burst with pride. She craved her little brother's respect the way she did her mother's, and her little brother was not known for profligacy in handing out compliments.

"We need to retrieve our prisoners," Harry said. "Let's see…"

James' unaided flying abilities came in very handy. Harry sent him out over the fallow land to cast a ' _brachiabindo_ ' jinx, which put an end to the comical sequence of get up, run a few strides, fall down, get up, etc. Once they couldn't use their hands and arms to get back up, Fudge and Nott fell down in the tangled vegetation and awaited assistance. James, floating overhead, used ' _levicorpus_ ' and retrieved first Bart Fudge, then the Nott everyone knew was a Nott but still had no first name. He dropped them both in the triangle formed by Iolanthe, Lissette and Harry.

"Is Gorr around?" Harry asked.

"Don't know, but I can find out," Iolanthe said.

"She could save us some time," said Harry.

Iolanthe looked down at their prisoners and smiled.

It took two tries, but Iolanthe put her wand to her neck and managed to call Gorr up. Lissette had no experience with dragons, so James took her in hand and sat her down out of the way, on the bench by the mill stone, while Harry and Iolanthe parlayed with Gorr in parseltongue.

"What are they doing?" Lissette asked in a panicky whisper. Iolanthe stood next to Gorr, stroking her neck while she talked, occasionally pointing to Fudge and Nott who lay trussed-up on the ground.

"It's okay, believe me," James said, speaking very quietly. "Iolanthe is friends with that dragon. Well, as much as a human can be. Did her a favor once. The dragon thinks quite highly of her. They've done little projects together, you could say."

Harry was addressing his prisoners.

"I am arresting you for the crimes of breaking and entering, criminal trespass, assault and, oh, disorderly conduct. Anything you say will be taken down and used…"

James saw Harry finally draw his wand and do a little casting over the two. Iolanthe was permitted to dispense one kiss to her snout before Gorr leaned down and took the prisoners' restraints in her teeth. Her great wings beat the air once, twice, before she pushed off and was airborne, her prisoners dangling beneath. Harry and Iolanthe walked back to the bench, where Harry cast his patronus.

"I want you to find Ralph Mann and advise him I'm sending two prisoners to the ministry. The aurors on duty ought to be seeing them on the roof of the ministry in an hour, to an hour-and-a-half, depending on air traffic."

The stag had decent materiality in the shade around the bench but disappeared as soon as it entered full daylight.

"Iolanthe Astoria," Harry began. "Your late aunt knew how to make an entrance, too. I think she'd be very proud of you for that one."

They all sat there on the bench, calming down, thinking their thoughts. The fairies reappeared and made crowns for Iolanthe and Lissette. Iolanthe smiled and thought of the last hours she had spent with Astoria, reading _The Odyssey_ , both of them wearing their crowns of fairies.

A loud sniff from Iolanthe pulled Harry out of his reverie.

"They'll be thinking about lunch at the house," he observed. "Shall we?"

"You did take care of the trout?" asked Iolanthe as she dabbed the corners of her eyes with a tissue.

"All done," James assured her.

Harry gave a silent, "Good-bye, be back soon!" to the community he was certain inhabited the environs. Not a boisterous one that would disturb their rest, of course.

The little party walked back to Potter Manor. Harry made a mental note to thank Kingsley for the time off. It was a true luxury to have whole summer days at his disposal, time for working on things around the house together, like placing a boulder or planting a stand of aspens. Having Iolanthe recruit her dragon acquaintance to transport prisoners wasn't a normal, everyday activity but she was a very creative witch and she needed her outlets. Otherwise, her natural curiosity could lead to Potter-esque adventures of an unconstructive nature.

"Well, the travelers return!" said Daphne, looking up from a bowl of some kind of puree she was spooning into a twin. "Where did you find them?"

"Just down by The Mill," Iolanthe said.

Harry looked around the patio. Tracey sat by Zelda, who was also feeding a twin. Millicent was exiting the house, and Ginny, also returned from somewhere, followed Millicent outside.

"Might as well tell them the whole story," Harry said, "Things must be happening to have flushed those two."

Lunch ended up taking two hours. It was very pleasant under the canvas umbrellas that shaded the tables, talking over salads and fresh bread, iced tea and lemonade. The scrap by The Mill didn't take very long. Harry wasn't going to be the one to give evidence against Iolanthe for sticking her nose into law enforcement business, but James could not resist telling the tale of the exquisite trickery of Iolanthe's use of illusion to tip the balance.

"Given the outcome, dear, you won't be scolded and sent to your room," Daphne granted, "But without it, I would have to comment on your judgment."

"In Iolanthe's defense," Harry stated, "She combined skill with imagination and brought about a non-violent solution, resolving an immediate public safety problem. It was a performance worthy of a witch far older and more experienced. Not that we'd want her doing that sort of thing every day, understand, but James and I were both impressed and grateful."

"Well put, Harry," said Millicent. "and to think one of my students, at Iolanthe's age…"

"Hear-hear," added Ginny. "Those bloodlines…always saving the day. Magnificent."

Ginny gave Iolanthe the co-conspirator look, which Iolanthe returned.

Talk turned to the overall Lafleur problem. If one knew how to read the aurors' reports in the Daily Prophet, the signs said a large operation was underway. Financial crimes were popping up here and there, the arrests getting prominent play. Most readers were too bored by fraud to read more than a paragraph, but the skimming of public funds was always good as tabloid subject matter. Harry hated corruption. The money could be made up, but the damage to the public trust was much harder to repair.

No one had contacted him from the ministry, so Harry was determined to keep his peace. Kingsley, Percy, Ron and Hermione all knew where he could be reached. If they needed him, they were welcome to send an owl.

The scandal and the morning's dust-up exhausted, Harry turned to Daphne.

"Do you have to go in today?" he asked.

"No," she answered, "I'll go tomorrow for rounds. I'm trying to keep my patient load down, but I can only fob off so many on my colleagues."

"So we have the rest of today? Great!" Harry said. "We can all hang out being witches and wizards. Should we invite anyone over?"

"Let me see what Rose is doing," Iolanthe said, getting up and going inside.

The twins were refusing more of their mushed-up vegetables and protesting something. Tracey and Daphne picked them up and went inside, asking unanswerable questions about washups and nice naps, Zelda following behind. Lissette left as well.

"Harry," Millicent said.

"Millicent," Harry replied.

"Are you being careful?"

"Yes, very," Harry said. "Have you seen something I've missed?"

"No," Millicent said. "To the contrary. I think we're all sitting here peacefully as a result of your outstanding security practices. Lafleur is dangerous, though."

"Thank-you," Harry said, "That's very much appreciated."

The three sat there for a few more minutes before Harry got up.

"I probably ought to send an owl," he said, forgetting his earlier resolution. "If you'll excuse me."

Harry went to his study and closed the door. At his desk, he opened his stationary drawer and took out a piece of note parchment with the Potter and Black seals impressed at the top. He disciplined himself, sticking with one sheet, composing a succinct description of his last two interactions with Bart Fudge, which he folded in half and slipped into a parchment envelope addressed to Kingsley Shacklebolt. He followed with another, this one to Ralph Mann, a third to Hermione with a request that she share with Ron so one note would do for both. Harry waved his wand over the envelopes, shrinking them to very manageable sizes.

Harry sat in his green leather swivel chair contemplating his desk lamps. Daphne had chosen a pair of oil lamps with emerald green shades blown by some method from heavy glass. Harry had to admit they were beautiful, true works of magical art. Of course they were the same green used in all the iconic Slytherin items such as blankets, ties, and Slytherin crests. Daphne possessed some powerful healer magic, Harry had to admit, if she could cure him of his near-phobic distaste for anything emerald green in color.

Harry looked between the lamps and pondered the study's fireplace. The floo address was closely held, since it was connected to the parallel system, along with Gringotts One, that was accessed only by individuals with the right clearance and a genuine need to move around outside the regular floos. The various Mercuries who brought Harry his reading would know the address, of course. He was sure Fiona could access it, and Fiona would be cleared to pass the Potter Manor wards as well.

Harry opened his drawer and withdrew one more sheet of parchment. He wrote out a carefully-edited version of the notes in the envelopes on the desk before him, sealed it and shrank the envelope.

Harry was pleased to see a selection of owls perched around the Potter owlery. He picked out three fast ones and sent them on their way, then held out his arm for the big barred owl.

"Find Kingsley," he told the owl. "Can you find Kingsley and give this to him? I don't want anyone else getting this one, even if you have to bring it back."

The owl opened his beak for the envelope, gave Harry a wink, and took off.

Harry returned to his study and went in, leaving the door open. He wondered how long he'd be waiting and checked his watch. He didn't think it would be more than an hour. Owl mail didn't travel at natural owl speed. Harry had never known exactly why that was, but now that he'd thought about it, he resolved to find out. It might be important someday, for someone in his position.

Forty-six minutes after Harry had checked the time the green flames flared in his fireplace and out stepped Fiona, carrying a file folder. From where he sat in his swivel chair it looked like the folder had all the stamps and seals normally found on his morning reading material. Harry's wand lay on his desk blotter before him but he thought Fiona might want a little banter before they got serious, so he left the wand alone. It gave off all the atmospherics necessary to get Fiona's attention without the aggression implicit in being in hand, ready to cast.

"Brought you some material," Fiona said, giving the file folder a little flip.

"Did you?" Harry asked. "Well, be careful with it because it appears you left your wand inside, unless I'm mistaken. That bulge does indicate the presence of a wand, doesn't it?"

"Oh," said Fiona, "No wonder it felt so lumpy. Left in a rush, see."

"It happens," Harry said. "Just so you know, Kingsley has put me on the bench indefinitely. My understanding is I come back to work when Kingsley determines it is time for me to come back to work. Therefore, I'm probably not cleared to see whatever is in that file, unless you just grabbed the folder, in your rush out the door, and threw something in that doesn't require that level of security labeling."

"That's it!" Fiona said. "The stuff inside isn't restricted. All the empty file folders were for the higher-level paper and I just grabbed this one."

"Because you were in a hurry," Harry said in confirmation.

"Trying to get out of there," Fiona semi-argued.

"Well, thanks for bringing it," Harry said. "If it doesn't require special handling just drop it on the desk. Do you need an answer right away? Will you be waiting to take it back? How about a mineral water, pumpkin juice, butterbeer? Have you eaten? We didn't have lunch that long ago, let me call Periwinkle…"

"No!" shouted Fiona, eyes wild, face starting to flush. "I don't want anything!"

Harry waited, making a little tent with his fingers, consciously staying away from his wand.

"Well, then, Fiona, I know you didn't come all this way for nothing, so what can I do for you?"

"You're coming with me," Fiona tacked, getting a little control. "Kingsley wants to see you."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked, getting a vigorous nod in return. "Where is he? We can just go to his office from right here."

Harry gestured toward the fireplace as he stepped out from behind his desk.

"No!" said Fiona, "We'll go outside and I'll take you to him. By side-along."

Harry kept an eye on the file folder. Fiona the competent analyst was completely out of her element and she knew it. She was agitated and had a wand in her hand, even if it was inside a file folder.

"Sure, if that's what you want," Harry said. He kept some distance between the two of them so Fiona wouldn't think he was making a move and overreact.

"Where'd you say he is? The front door is this way."

Fiona took her eyes away to follow Harry's pointing left index finger, as Harry dropped his right hand down next to his thigh, opening and closing as he thought 'ACCIO!'

"Right this way."

Harry stayed on Fiona's right, the grip of his wand in his palm, the shank lying against the inside of his right forearm. Fiona still carried on her pantomime of being someone from work who came to the country to bring the boss a little reading, which she had to keep pointed at him for some reason.

Harry and Fiona had cleared the stairs and were proceeding up a path to get outside the wards when Lissette stepped onto the front steps.

"IRIS!" she shouted.

Fiona froze where she was. Harry looked at her out of the corner of his eye. He started to spin and was raising his upper arm to bring his elbow to bear on Fiona's jaw when he saw the file folder coming up. At the same time he caught movement back at the door.

Fiona's _'expelliarmus!'_ was true, but Lissette's ' _protego!_ ' came from a place of rage and thirst for justice. Fiona went flying from the rebound, and even Harry stumbled back, nearly blown off his feet.

Lissette charged down the steps, her new wand sharing her righteous indignation that her tormentor had shown up at her refuge. The nerve!

 _"_ _Petrificus!"_ shouted Lissette and Fiona stiffened. _"Porcinafors!"_ she continued.

Harry watched as Fiona transformed into a pig before toppling over on her side.

"That's a good-looking pig," Harry said as he and Lissette closed in on the animal.

Rose and Iolanthe ran down the steps, wands out, followed by Millicent, Ginny, Tracey and Daphne.

"What is going on here?" Daphne demanded. "There is a pig on the front lawn of our home!"

That was so hilariously obvious Harry was sorely tried in suppressing his desire to point it out. He sought ways to move on from that very dangerous thought.

"Not just any pig," Harry said, "This great sow is my trusted deputy, Fiona Diggle, also known to Lissette as Iris. Considering how she treated Lissette I'd say she's lucky she's not turning on a spit over a fine bed of coals at this very moment."

"It's not a sow," James observed as he walked up to the group. "Look at that belly. Those haven't nursed anything. That would be called a shoat, or maybe she's just barren."

Rose and Iolanthe put hands over their mouths and looked off at nothing in particular. Everyone else stared at James.

"Hey, I'm just a simple farmer," James began, and ended.

"Well, Lissette, what are you going to do with your prize hog?" Daphne asked. The pig was rolling her eyes and managed one snort although nothing else was working due to the ' _petrificus_.'

"I'll let her go," Lissette said, "But first I'll make her a present of something."

The osage orange wand went next to Lissette's ear. She closed her eyes and began pulling a long, gauzy thread out from her temple, rolling the wand in her fingers to make the memory spool around the shank. When she finished she leaned over the pig Fiona.

"You gave me this, and I've carried it around for months," Lissette said to the pig. "It is time you got it back."

The wand tip hovered over Fiona's pig ear and the memory unspooled itself from the wand and into the ear. Porcine Fiona blinked a few times but didn't react otherwise. Lissette stepped back, still pointing her wand at Fiona.

" _Reverso porcinafors_ ," she said, and Fiona was back, looking a little confused.

"What?" she said as she stood up. "What are you all doing standing there looking at me? Aren't you Millicent Bulstrode? That's my wand…"

Fiona stopped talking as a memory bubbled up, unbidden. She was lying in bed, naked, looking out through Lissette's eyes. Scared, unsure what was coming. She was sixteen years old and had had several difficult encounters with men, all against her will. She had no desire for men, nor for women. She didn't want to be where she was. She didn't know what the older, naked Fiona expected. She wouldn't have come if they hadn't forced her. Now this. Fiona's face, her fifty-year-old face, appeared before her. Over her. The face she'd seen in the mirror that very morning. The pores in the skin that covered her cheekbones were prominent, so close they looked like moon craters, and they weren't particularly clean. Older Fiona's breath stank. The older Fiona face came down on the sixteen-year-old Fiona's, mouth-to-mouth. Fiona remembered that tongue in her mouth, so real, as if it were happening in the present. A rough hand squeezed young Fiona's breast until it hurt. Young Fiona lay there, wanting to move, repulsed, afraid. Something was rubbing her thigh, hard, something rough. The fifty-year-old Fiona shuddered, moaned and pulled her mouth away.

"Thank Merlin," thought the young Fiona.

Fiona stood on the lawn of Potter Manor, feeling a little disoriented, looking around at the people who stood there looking at her.

"I don't remember this happening to me," Fiona thought. "This is a dream. I'll wake up soon."

It wasn't a dream at all, though. Fiona's Lissette memory, more real than any of her own genuine memories, started over. She was sixteen years old, naked, in Fiona's room at the Lafleur retreat, helpless, alone with Fiona. She looked up at her older self, surprised at the folds of flesh, the floppiness, the stray hairs growing out of unexpected places. Fiona's breath stank, her mouth came down. The scratchy thing started up on the same spot on the same thigh. Why did she keep remembering? How many times would she have to relive it?

"Stop it!" Fiona screamed at Lissette, grabbing her own hair with both hands. "You monster! Bitch! Monster! What have you done to me? Get this out of my head!"

Fiona began to run across the lawn, pulling at her hair. She was pulling it out in clumps, screaming inarticulately.

"Monster! Little bitch!"

Daphne pulled up the long skirt of her caftan in her left hand and ran barefoot, casting spell after spell to calm Fiona, to slow her down, to dull her mind enough for her to get control of herself. The healers and associated professionals who treat witches and wizards with mental maladies have books full of charms to draw on to help their patients come down from their psychotic heights. Daphne ran through several of the most widely-used and was starting to think she would need to revert to brute force to end the episode, when Fiona finally stopped, stood still, and stared into the distance.

Millicent arrived, ready to assist Daphne any way she could, and took up a position at Fiona's side.

"Oh, that's so much better," said Healer Daphne. "Now, how about a glass of pumpkin juice while we wait? Would you like that?"

"Pumpkin juice?" asked Fiona.

"Yes, and then maybe a nice, quiet room, with a bed and friends around," suggested Healer Daphne. "I know just the place. How long has it been since you've been on vacation? Do you like staying in a nice hotel?"

"I like hotels," admitted Fiona, letting Daphne and Millicent escort her back to the big front door.

"Is this your hotel?"


	43. Chapter 43

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Forty-Three

Prelude

The combined Potter-Davis household and its various adherents and retainers consumed several days processing both the administrative detritus and emotional disruption of their encounters with the followers of Jacques Lafleur.

Daphne asked St. Mungo's for some help getting Fiona to London. Once she'd gotten Fiona safely admitted to the mental maladies section, Daphne prescribed a number of potions that would keep the demons at bay pending a full workup. Daphne had to proceed with care, of course, because she could not become the attending healer for the woman who invaded her home and ended up transformed into a pig on the front lawn. That just wouldn't do, ethically speaking, even for a witch.

Harry floo-called around Kingsley's usual haunts and got him to come to Potter Manor for a formal briefing. Kingsley brought Ralph Mann and the head of the DMLE Prosecutorial Service, thus saving Harry the time and effort he would have expended going from office to office making official statements. Bart Fudge, for his part, had collected his wits and was acting like the skilled lawyer he had once been, charging Harry with false arrest and allowing the transport of Nott and himself by unauthorized and unsafe means, i.e., a dragon, as well as other deviations from standard practice.

Percy Weasley, who'd also come along to Potter Manor, seemed to be taking Fudge's claims seriously, since Bart was arguing to anyone he could get to listen that the arrest was improper and Harry Potter should be investigated for putting his two falsely-arrested prisoners in mortal danger. Considering the excellent condition of the prisoners when delivered to the roof of the Ministry of Magic, Kingsley believed there would be few witches or wizards who would find the story believable, given the prevailing views of the dangers to wizards posed by dragons.

"So they got there okay?" Harry asked. "I really am glad. There wasn't a need to hurt anyone. On the other hand, maybe now they'll take the idea of screwing around with my family with the seriousness it deserves. Really, coming to pick a fight with us at The Mill. There are limits."

Kingsley, Ralph and the prosecutor, unlike Percy, thought Harry's creative prisoner transport both justifiable and efficient. When they heard Iolanthe had been the one to summon and negotiate with Gorr, Kingsley asked Harry to bring her to the study so everyone could meet her. Iolanthe arrived, trailed by Lissette. Kingsley was effusive in his praise for both witches, shaking their hands, congratulating them on their demonstrated capabilities and encouraging them to keep studying and adding to their magical repertoires. Ralph Mann put in a plug for his force, extracting a promise from both to consider the aurors when they were making career plans.

Later that evening, Iolanthe confessed she and Lissette had been just a bit bedazzled to have been introduced to and engaged in conversation with the visiting luminaries. Hogwarts students didn't usually get private audiences with the Minister of Magic.

"You witches bedazzled them as much as they did you," Harry said. "You both did things far beyond what anyone would expect of witches your age. To just pull that out on the spot, in the wild, so to speak? Remarkable!"

Iolanthe and Lissette both got a little embarrassed as Harry went on a bit, but they liked it, too. He was a grandee, according to the Daily Prophet, besides being the dashing head of the department that was never acknowledged, which was just about the coolest job in the entire ministry, possibly excepting Head Unspeakable.

The household returned to its pre-Lafleur routines in the week following the arrests. The various ministry investigative bodies, including Ron Weasley's small Wizengamot section, put together a thick package of reports and referrals for prosecution, mainly for fraud in contracting. Jacques Lafleur had canceled his upcoming appearances and avoided public view. His staff put out the word that he had gone on retreat. Harry didn't think he had heard the last of Jacques Lafleur, but there was plenty of work to do, so he decided to let Lafleur worry about Lafleur.

Two days after the arrests of Fudge and Nott, and the commitment of Fiona, Harry's morning reading included a list of ministry employees then under suspension for confirmed participation in the skimming of ministry funds. Harry wrote a thank-you note and attached it to the list. He put another memo slip in the file addressed to his assistant, asking for a meeting that day with the heads of the counter-intelligence and security branches. The list of compromised employees was gratifyingly short, but also troubling.

"We can't let this happen again," Harry said to Daphne and Tracey as they ate breakfast on the patio. "If we don't have the confidence of the witches and wizards we don't have any justification for our existence as their ministry."

"Don't be too hard on yourself," Tracey said, perhaps just slightly exceeding her brief. "Bart and Fiona were very smart, senior employees, and they knew what they were doing. They just went bad. You had every right to have confidence they were doing their jobs faithfully."

Daphne smiled her thanks at Tracey. Harry was always too self-critical whenever anything went wrong, Daphne felt. If Daphne could get an expression of support from Tracey from time to time, perhaps it wouldn't feel to Harry like a reflexive spousal comment rendered out of duty.

"Oh, I guess that's right," Harry said. He took a sip of coffee, brow still in its thinking-it-over configuration.

"At least I can't find a flaw in your argument," Harry finished up. "Now, what is on the schedule today?"

"Meetings," said Tracey, "The Carrow-LeDoux wedding and a conference on international standards for magical commodities to be held in London. It's the first thing I've done as Davis Event Management, so it has to go right. It's going to be a milestone in our business development, one way or the other."

Daphne took the floor.

"Back to work, with a limited schedule for a month or six weeks," she said. "We have to adjust our time management. The youth do well, but they can't take over for the youngest Potters, nor should they be expected to. We have to get through the next two months and then everyone is back at school except Davis and Evans."

"We need a schedule," Harry said. "My hours are usually flexible. I can go in early, come home, work out of my study…"

"So accommodating," Daphne said to Tracey.

"He is," Tracey agreed, "Especially for a grandee."

Harry recognized the sly dig, intended to deflate him just enough to keep him from becoming obnoxious.

"Who needs to leave when?" Harry asked. "I can stay until mid-morning without letting the office know, but I ought to be there by ten, or ten-thirty at the latest."

Schedules sorted over breakfast, Tracey left first, followed shortly thereafter by Daphne. Harry ordered up another cup of coffee and struck out to tour the domain. He began with Davis and Evans, who were well-fed and napping under the supervision of Iolanthe, Zelda and Lissette. Iolanthe stood up when Harry entered the nursery, cocking her head toward the door, with an implicit question whether or not Harry wanted to talk.

Harry nodded, stopping first to admire the youngest Potters in their cradles.

"Know where James is?" Harry asked when he and Iolanthe had exited the nursery.

"Try the greenhouse," Iolanthe said. "Are you getting ready to leave?"

"Not right away," Harry said. "Your mother and Tracey both had commitments so I'll be here until one of them gets back. What are you thinking of doing today?"

"Zelda wants to fly. Auntie Ginny is going to be out reporting all day, so no Burrow. Maybe Zelda can do a little here. Lissette is feeling a lot better. Giving Fiona a bit of her own back did her a world of good. She's very positive about seventh year, talking about getting the textbooks and getting a start reading-in. I don't have any plans. Raising babies, I guess," Iolanthe concluded.

"No higher calling," Harry observed. "Look what your mother was able to accomplish with you and James."

Harry did find James in the greenhouse, along with Teddy.

"Teddy—didn't know you were here," said Harry as he walked in. "What are the growers up to?"

"Starting some seedlings," James said, sidling over to get between Harry and Teddy, who was collating, then rolling up a few sheets of parchment.

"We're also talking about a possible new venture," James said. "Do you know anything about co-operatives?"

"A little," Harry said, "Like a store, only the shoppers own it?"

"That's one kind," James said, "They can be organized for any purpose. We were thinking about a grower's co-op. There are potential customers in odd places, like the Shetlands, who don't have a reliable local source for something we have lots of, because of the climate. There are also growers who can't get their product to market because transportation costs make it prohibitive. We have been trying to decide whether there would be enough business to support a co-op to help witches and wizards smooth out those bumps, for everyone's benefit."

"That's an interesting proposition," Harry said. "Why don't you men do a little more exploration? Talk to Blaise. He might be very helpful with your research. Hannah's a businesswoman, and Tracey. Chat them up. See what you can learn from them. I expect you've talked to Fabio already?"

James and Teddy nodded their concurrence.

"It was his idea," Teddy told Harry.

Tour complete, Harry walked back up the hill to the manor. Harry reflected on his good fortune in life. He had no expectation of getting help from his antecedents so the existence of his vault at Gringotts' was almost physically shocking for the eleven-year-old, castoff orphan. Later on, making an honest living following Hogwarts was, to be truthful, the result of two happy near-accidents. One was his victory over Voldemort, and the other was the ministry's active recruitment of replacement aurors after the war's end.

Harry even gave some grudging recognition to the goblins for how they had handled the fallout from his actions in the war. Taking control of his assets to fund the repair and restoration of Gringotts' London headquarters was truly inspired. Rather than get into legal wrangling with the teenage Harry over who was to pay for this or that, they restored both Gringotts and Harry's estates and other ventures to sound fiscal health before calling him in for a talk with Ragnak.

"Oh, by the way, Mr. Potter…" was Harry's figurative paraphrase of Ragnak's presentation.

Harry thought over his conversation with Teddy and James as he climbed the hill. The growers' cooperative sounded like a viable enterprise. Harry was a relative stranger to the magical commodities sector, despite his years of exposure to and conversations with Fabio. He thought he'd make a point of bringing it up with Daphne over dinner. She and Fabio had worked on the Greengrass businesses together for years. She would certainly have some insights as to the economic prospects of such a venture.

Harry got back to the patio and placed his empty coffee cup on one of the tables. The Dart sparkled in the sunlight down in the bottom of the valley. He knew he should be thinking about Jacques Lafleur, the deconstruction of his organization, the lessons to be learned, the damage to magical Britain that would have to be assessed. A cult had tried to take down Harry Potter. That would not have been all there was to it. What was the goal? What were they trying to achieve, at the end of it all?

"Good morning, Harry," said a female voice behind him. Harry turned to see Millicent Bulstrode stepping down onto the limestone pavers.

"Millicent," Harry said, "Delighted. Have you had breakfast?"

"I had something in town," Millicent said. "The wife is going to be writing and editing and doing all that retired quidditch star stuff today, bless her. We're supposed to attend a dinner tonight but I'm free until it's time to gown up. This is where I prefer to be at times like this."

Harry motioned to a chair and sat down.

"Me too," he said as they settled in. "I can think through things. It gets quiet up here."

He tapped his temple with a forefinger.

Millicent stretched her legs out in front and leaned back in her chair.

"What's next?" Millicent asked.

"Oddly enough, that is exactly what I have been asking myself," Harry answered. "We're in good shape financially, the youngsters are coming along. Teddy is launched and it looks like he is showing a little leadership for the next generation. I have my work responsibilities, of course. Something will turn up."

"Be careful what you wish for," Millicent observed.

"Of course, that's a constant," Harry laughed. "How about you? A couple of your Defense students really exceeded expectations this week. You probably feel good about that."

"They did, and I do," Millicent agreed. "Just so you know, Harry, I'm not spreading that around. I'd advise you and Daphne to do the same. Iolanthe is obviously both talented and powerful. That's something we've all seen from the beginning. She's still so young and inexperienced, though. I have a hunch she will attract a lot of attention, just going through life. The wrong sort come looking for people like her. Just like they did you. No need to bring it on now."

"I remember," Harry said. "Can I change the subject slightly? What is your perspective on the Lafleur group infiltrating the ministry and trying to do whatever it is they've been trying to do? They were putting on their lectures and retreats and selling the program. Judging by how they treated Lissette, it looks like the leaders were living some kind of hedonistic lifestyle and getting away with it. Why not make it last?"

"That's a good one, Harry," said Millicent. "I've been thinking about it, and listening whenever Ginny and I are out socializing, trying to pick up anything I can from the gossip. It's not very clear. My theory is they'd reached the limit of their growth and influence and were starting to bump up against decent people and a functioning ministry. That was fencing them in, and they knew there would be a rebound if they didn't hit first. What do you think?"

"Actually, I was thinking along those lines, although you say it much more clearly," Harry said. "At least Lissette seems to be bouncing back. Iolanthe told me she's talking about getting her seventh-year books and starting her reading. She didn't know if she'd be able to return to Hogwarts when she…ah…joined the household."

"Harry Potter," Millicent said, "You have a way with words. So does Iolanthe, if I may. You might not notice because you two think so much along the same lines. Where did she get that business about taking Lissette under her protection, anyway?"

"No one knows," Harry said. "She was just angry her Slytherin sister was being mistreated so she drew a line and dared the stepfather to cross it. Which he made the mistake of doing, unfortunately for him. I guess Kendra was the first one to tell her she'd used a legal term. None of us knew what it meant, exactly. I got a little information from the ministry. I have to say, though, it has worked out. Lissette takes it seriously. She makes an effort to be a useful member of her protector's household. She doesn't make trouble, either."

"Smart girl," Millicent said. "Harry, if you have to do anything, I'll stay until Tracey or Daphne gets back."

"I am enjoying this a bit too much," Harry said, "There must be a Puritan back in the family tree somewhere."

"Go ahead and enjoy it," Millicent said. "Look at what you and Daphne do. Lots of people owe you. I know I do. I don't mind saying so."

"Millicent," Harry scoffed, "What do you think you owe us for?"

Millicent looked at him, her face betraying some surprise.

"All of it," she said. "Everything. You didn't just buy us lunch that night at the ball. Daphne did her part, too, letting us talk and talk until she got us around to feeling safe saying out loud what we were both desperate to say, that we wanted to be together. There is still a lot of prejudice around, about people like us. Not here, though. You accept us the way we are. Oh, listen to me. I'll just stop there."

Harry looked over at Millicent, who quite determinedly did not look back.

He let a couple of minutes pass, just sitting there with Millicent, looking down towards the Dart.

"Of course we accept you, Millicent, the way you are. That's not all though," Harry said. "You and Ginny make our lives so much better, and richer, and have for fifteen years now. I can't imagine how the four of us would have lasted this long if you were any other way than just the way you are."

Millicent did take in a deep, audible breath just then, so Harry got up.

"I'll go check on them and let them know you'll be here," he said. "I can't tell you how much your comments mean to me."

Harry left via the floo in his study. A few minutes later, Teddy and James walked up the hill and joined Millicent.

"Is he gone?" James asked, keeping his voice low.

"Sounded like it," Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts Millicent answered. "Now, out with it. What are you two doing looking so cagey?"

James looked at Teddy.

"Show her," he said, "She can keep a secret."

They spent the next fifteen minutes explaining the drawings for a serious magical landscaping project they were about to undertake. The idea was to arrange some blocks of limestone from the quarry Harry had used for the stone on and around the main house, to create what would look like a natural outcrop in a shady spot near the mill stream. The actual design would be obscured by the arrangement of the blocks until Harry arrived and thought the correct words to unlock the _fidelius,_ causing the blocks to rearrange themselves into a comfortable bench that could accommodate Harry and a reasonable number of friends and/or family.

"Will this work?" Millicent asked, looking between the two.

"We think so," James said. "So does Grandfather. He says he'll help with the charm if we have trouble. He wants us to get the stone in place and try to do it ourselves first."

"The worst that can happen is we'll fail at the charm," Teddy added, "Then we'll just make him a stone bench with the blocks."

"That's our back-up plan," James noted.

Something about James' observation got to Millicent and she let loose a laugh that was dangerously close to a bark.

"Outstanding, just outstanding," Millicent told them. "If you wizards pull this off…"

Teddy gave James a wink.

"Got to get home and check on the witches," Teddy said, walking off toward the green.

Harry arrived at his office for his first full day of on-premises work since his 'suspension' by Kingsley. One by one, the outer office staff stood. Someone began clapping and the whole office came in, almost as one. Harry took it as long as he could before raising a hand and motioning for quiet.

"You'll give me a swelled head," he explained, getting some laughs along with more applause. It took close to a minute to restore order the second time.

"Thank you for the welcome. Thank you for the faithful service to magical Britain. This is probably not over, but with your help, we will get to the bottom of it," Harry said, garnering some 'Hear-hear's,' some 'Well-stated's,' and at least one 'Very well done, sir.'

Harry's assistant was very efficient and had been giving due diligence to sorting his stack of reading material. Harry found little to disagree with in his rank-ordering and told the assistant so.

He looked at his calendar and noted the next meeting of the Wizengamot would take place the following week and wondered what his role would be. If he were a witness or a party to a charge in any way he would not be able to participate other than by giving testimony. Harry was fairly certain someone would be in touch soon. He did wonder who that might be.

The morning reading files included a fair amount of Lafleur-related material, interesting enough in itself but none of it requiring action by the department. Harry read carefully, looking for any reference, however oblique, to Iolanthe's protectee, her maltreatment by the Lafleur leaders, or the episode at Potter Manor and Fiona's porcine transformation. Nothing in the files seemed to be connected, and Harry went back through the reports, reading the non-Lafleur subjects thoroughly. By the time he finished it was nearly time for a bite of lunch.

There were a few options. He could go home to #12 Grimmauld Place and let Kreacher handle the menu. St. Mungo's cafeteria was a possibility, but he wasn't sure Daphne would be available, or even if she might have finished with her small patient load and returned to Potter Manor. The coffee shop had croissants and such. That left the Leaky Cauldron, with its congenial atmosphere and magical crossroads. One never knew whom one would see in there. Sometimes those chance meetings were the highlight of his day.

Harry automatically looked at the small booth near the fireplace but it was already occupied so he crossed the big room to a table for two placed near the door that came in from Muggle London. He'd worn a cloak for protection against soot in the floo system but it was a warm day so he took it off before sitting down.

"Harry!" Hannah Abbott called out from behind the bar. Harry waved as an elf popped into existence next to the table.

"I'll be taking orders, Mr. Potter," said the elf, "The Mistress is busy with the noon rush. Were you thinking of a sandwich?"

Harry had been, in fact, thinking about a sandwich. The Leaky Cauldron had so many, all good, in his opinion.

"What do you have today?" Harry asked. "In the way of sandwiches, that is."

"There is a roast beef, with which I recommend the horseradish-mustard combination spread and two half-dill pickle spears, or, if you're under the influence of a healer, the eggplant parmigiana with fresh provolone, both come standard in a toasted Mad Monk long roll, a little side of French fries included."

"Better have the eggplant," Harry said. "Perhaps with the small side salad."

"Certainly," said the elf before disappearing with a 'pop.'

Harry leaned against the back of his chair and looked around the room. He spotted a Harpies poster that looked new. It commemorated some team milestone and featured current standouts along with all-time greats. Ginny Weasley held down one corner, an elaborate oval frame surrounding a shot of Ginny on her broom, the quaffle under one arm, flying straight at the camera. The magical photo was at least fourteen years old. Harry didn't notice any significant differences between the picture and the Ginny he saw either at breakfast or dinner on most days. He knew he hadn't fared as well. Harry made a mental resolution to discuss some things at length, with Daphne, whenever they were someplace private. Perhaps it wouldn't violate the Daphne-Tracey Pact if Tracey were to give him some assistance with skin care, considering her subject matter expertise.

A party of four, three wizards and one witch, came in from Charing Cross Road and took a booth across the room. Harry didn't recognize any member of the group. One wore a cape, the hood for which he kept pulled up. He looked around the room, apparently assessing something before reaching up and pulling the hood back. The man's face seemed unnaturally pale, even for Britain. Harry thought he had a Leading Man look, like one of the muggle movie idols from the 1940's or 1950's, all cheekbones, pouty lips and black patent leather hair.

Harry's sandwich arrived, requiring his full attention. He hadn't ordered anything to drink, so he had to pause when the elf asked if he wanted anything. Harry asked for a lemonade and the elf disapparated, appearing almost simultaneously behind the bar. Moments later a glass of lemonade was being levitated to Harry's table. Harry's attention was moving from his sandwich, which awaited Harry's administration of a cut to divide it into two manageable pieces, to the glass of lemonade with the tinkling ice cubes rattling his way over tables, chairs and heads. The lemonade arrived without incident and Harry looked across the table to see the matinee idol occupying the chair opposite.

"Jacques Lafleur," the man said. He seemed to be about to reach out automatically, before catching himself, pulling his hand back, and inclining his head.

"Harry Potter," Harry said, keeping both hands on the rim of his plate while he adjusted its placement according to his obsessive standard.

"You can be hard to find," said Lafleur. Harry stopped still and looked at him.

"You don't mean that," Harry said. "This is our initial meeting. To get started right, we have to agree to be honest. Would you like to begin again?"

"Very well," said Lafleur, "I've been looking forward to meeting you."

"Same here," Harry said, "Since it was inevitable. There is no reason to feel otherwise. To do so would induce negative feelings, wouldn't it? Pardon me, I'm going to have two halves to this sandwich, plus the little salad, can I offer you half?"

"Ah, that's very gracious of you," said Lafleur. "I'll decline this time. Friends over there, you see. I just took the opportunity to come over and introduce myself."

"That's good," Harry said, "Now I have a face to go with the name. Is there anything I can do for you, as long as you're here?"

Lafleur leaned over the table. Whether he meant to or not he narrowed his eyes and the skin on his forehead tightened. The way he looked made Harry think of something from the canine family preparing to spring an ambush. That was interesting. It occurred to Harry that he had been thinking their eventual confrontation would have the nature of two big males fighting for dominance. Maybe he needed to start thinking in parseltongue, just to bring a little guile and cunning to the fore.

"You can call off your toadies and let me run my little piece of the culture," said Lestrange. "You don't want to listen to the message? Don't listen. You don't want to contribute to the good works? Don't contribute. We aren't going away. We have rights. Get used to us."

Harry took a bite of sandwich and chewed while he considered Lafleur, his speech, body language and state of agitation.

"Mr. Lafleur," Harry began, "No one cares about your institution. I've seen some of your literature and talked to people who have attended your lectures and so on. There isn't a lot of content. Some superficial positive messaging cribbed from a few deep thinkers. The ministry has no interest in that. What the ministry does have an interest in is fraud in contracting and the abuse of some of your followers."

"I deny any intentional wrongdoing involving public monies," Lafleur said, keeping his voice low while a shout was struggling to get out. "If anyone in the organization is tried and convicted of abusing others we will of course excommunicate them and allow justice to take its course."

"Very wise," Harry said. He laid his sandwich on the plate and took a drink of lemonade. "May I convey your thoughts to the minister?"

"Of course," said Lafleur, his consternation showing. "I'll meet with the minister if that is what it takes."

"That's entirely up to him," Harry said. "You might want to extend your period of meditation and reflection pending receipt of the minister's response."

"You're toying with me, Potter," Lafleur hissed, eyes now slits. "You would be well advised to go no further."

"Oh, I think I will go just a little bit further, Mr. Lafleur," Harry said. "Or is that Mr. Lestrange? You're from the French branch, aren't you? You attended one of the continental schools, we may have the records back at the office. Michel Lestrange, who also studied in Cebu, where he made a grave mistake. Didn't you?"

"What are you going on about, Potter? That old man teaches judo in a storefront. His big thrill was sitting in his bamboo hut hoarding knowledge that can be put to use," Lafleur went on.

Harry sat still, hands flat on the table in front of him. He didn't take his eyes off Lafleur, but the angle on Lafleur's group was good enough to detect indications they were getting restless.

"Do you remember your vows?" Harry asked. Lafleur flinched.

"Of course," he stage-whispered. "You don't forget…"

"No, we don't," Harry said, "Because our master believes in keeping it very simple. Just kneel, let him take your hands in his, and promise not to abuse the knowledge he entrusts to you. Do you remember the specific points?"

"I do not perform tricks for money!" Lafleur said.

"Your activities are seen differently, in some quarters," Harry said. "Do you remember the rules? When your error is brought to your attention, you are encouraged to consult with your master, admit your mistake, and make amends. Then you can go and begin again. The choice is yours."

"You are threatening me, Potter!" Lafleur said. "I'll have you up on charges before the Wizengamot. You won't be able to get a job sweeping up in here. I'll get your houses, I'll get your land, and I will personally clean out your vaults!"

"I wish I could say it has been nice meeting you," Harry said. "Please consider the alternative course available to you before we go too far down this road."

Harry stood, threw his cloak over his shoulders, and picked up the untouched half of his sandwich. He knew he'd really ought to get out of the Leaky Cauldron before the situation boiled over, endangering a pub full of innocent people, but he couldn't resist asking the question that had been intriguing him for months.

"There's something I've been wanting to ask," he said. "Are you really a vampire, or is that a figure of speech?"


	44. Chapter 44

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Forty-Four

Shoring Up

Harry exited the fireplace in the salon at Potter Manor in the middle of taking a bite out of his eggplant parmigiana on Mad Monk. Finding the salon unoccupied, he went out into the central hallway and called out, "Hullo?"

The only sounds were coming from the rear of the house, so Harry suspected he'd be able to find someone at or near the patio. He was right, but there was no sign of Daphne, nor the twins, so he reversed course for the stairs. He had come for a word with Daphne, primarily, so he would leave the social call until later. Harry nearly knocked his head on their bedroom door when he grasped the handle, pushed, and expected to walk right in. Stepping back, he gave the lock a little tap with the tip of his wand and listened to the works click.

Harry had seen Daphne transform countless times so Iolanthe and James could play with her lynx counterpart, but he wasn't prepared for the menage that greeted him. He did have the presence of mind to enter the room and quickly close and lock the door. Lying on the Isfahan carpet was not only a platinum lynx, showing bared teeth and flipping the end of her tail, but two kittens bumped up against her belly, purring, mewing and working their paws. The mother lynx clearly did not want to be disturbed, so Harry stayed near the wall and slowly made his way to a chair to wait.

It was only a few minutes later that the babies seemed to get their fill and begin to lose interest in eating. One backed away a little and waited for his brother to join him. When that didn't happen, the first satiated kitten gave his brother a very profound swat across the face, getting one back as good as he'd given. Mother Lynx shimmered a moment and stood up, shaking out her platinum hair before grabbing a towel tossed on the end of the bed for a little cleanup.

"You're probably wondering…" Daphne said, looking down and inspecting herself as she dabbed off the stray milk with her towel.

"Lots of things," Harry affirmed. Daphne stooped and picked up the kittens, then headed for the nursery.

"Want to see?" she asked, standing next to the twins' beds. Harry joined her. Once in their cradles, one lynx kitten, then the other transformed back into Evans and Davis. Daphne pulled two diapers from a pile on a nearby shelf and handed one to Harry.

"Just a minute," Daphne said as she finished diapering. She turned for the bathroom, still dabbing the towel at the droplets that didn't seem to want to stop. Harry heard the shower run, then stop, and Daphne walked back into their bedroom, drying off as she came. Harry was taken completely by surprise when Daphne pushed him back, not gently, and held him there against the wall while she took her time kissing his face. She must have gotten bored because she threw in a short exploration of his mouth. Some stray drops from the shower dampened Harry's shirt as Daphne pressed forward.

Even when she broke off, Daphne didn't let him get away but just leaned back enough for them to look each other in the eye.

"Harry Potter," she said, before kissing him again.

"I guess I should get dressed," Daphne said, like it was an idle observation, an afterthought.

"Not on my account," Harry assured her. "I like seeing you like this."

"Fresh," Daphne said as she reached for some underwear.

"When did you…" Harry began, before Daphne cut him off.

"They were just playing with the lynx, the same way Iolanthe and James did," Daphne said as she dressed. "One minute they were simply human babies crawling over me and giggling and the next thing I knew they'd transformed. It happens, I looked it up. It's rare but it is there in the literature. Then I thought of nursing them, all of us as lynxes. It's science, isn't it? Push back the frontiers. I lactate as a lynx. I definitely didn't know a witch could do that. That's what you saw. They're fascinating, until they start to bite, then I go Mother Lynx on them and they get a little coaching in manners."

"I guess that's okay, as long as they keep transforming back," Harry said. "I can't imagine being helped through old age by a couple of male lynx. As long as they don't hurt you."

"Oh, that is strictly a wizard concern," Daphne said. Harry must have gotten a bit of a sheepish look.

"Seriously," Daphne continued. "Witch, muggle, lynx…all the mothers going back ages and ages, we had to figure that out. It's you males that suddenly get concerned over a non-problem. That's something for you to ponder while your brain is idling. Now, you're home early. What is going on?"

Evans and Davis were already closing their eyes. Harry and Daphne walked down the stairs and through the house while he described his truncated lunch with Jacques Lafleur.

"He's put down a marker," Harry said, "With a nasty threat at the end and everything. I am losing hope this will resolve without violence."

"Oh, Harry," Daphne said, "Don't lose hope. Even if it's true, don't lose hope. That way lies despair."

"I know about despair," Harry said as they arrived at the patio.

Tracey wasn't back, but the older children and Millicent were strung between the patio and the woodlanders' reveling green, except for Zelda who was lazily carving figure-eights just overhead. Harry got everyone's attention with a whistle and waved to them to come to the house.

"Got some news," Harry said without any introduction. "The short version is Jacques Lafleur introduced himself to me while I was trying to eat lunch at the Leaky Cauldron about an hour ago. He made some threats. I'd call him unrepentant. Therefore, we're going to have to consider returning to Grimmauld Place. That is really a fortress. Still, I'd like to stay here, just for the fresh air and sunshine, at least until the end of the month. That means wards, day and night, and no solo rambles."

Harry looked at Iolanthe, who made a face and blew her breath out in frustration.

"That's the less-than-good-news," Harry went on. "The better news is the DMLE and the aurors are doing a great job, investigating the heck out of the Lafleurs, documenting the fraud, arresting the corrupt ones, so this might be over in a few weeks and we can all get on with enjoying the summer in Devon, shopping for school, and marveling at Evans and Davis. Questions?"

Harry's short talk was surprisingly informative, so no one asked.

"Fine, then," Harry continued, "I've still got a workday in progress so I'll be at the office if needed. Send me an owl."

Daphne and Harry walked back to the salon.

"I was serious when I said I liked the way you looked," said Harry, barely above a whisper.

"Oh?" Daphne said. "If you come home intact, perhaps I can let you see that again."

"That's what I call an incentive," Harry said as he pulled her close.

Harry had no worries about the security of his home and family, as long as everyone observed his admonition about the wards. Besides, Daphne and Millicent were more than capable of handling any frontal assaults that managed to get through the manor's defenses. He was much more concerned about an ambush situation as the Potter-Blacks and associated branches went about their everyday business, going to meetings, shopping for life's necessities, paying social calls. Granted, Daphne, Tracey, Millicent and Ginny were skilled witches, with varying degrees of experience in conflictive situations. Even fourteen-year-old Iolanthe had demonstrated coolness under pressure, using guile and skill to overcome the advantages of age and experience in her opponents.

Harry feared those wouldn't be enough if Michel Lestrange were free to run riot indefinitely. The matinee idol across the table had leapt from cool operator with a reasonable proposal to manic personality throwing out threats in the space of a few minutes. If he assessed Harry was immovable, and Harry was in his way, the ancient Fight or Flight dichotomy in every human's lizard brain would be triggered and Lestrange would look for his opportunity to force a decision. That had the potential to put everyone to whom Harry was close, as well as his department, perhaps even the aurors, at serious risk, if Lestrange believed he could compel Harry to fight him by doing damage.

Harry considered whether he might not be able to package everything up in a neat and tidy fashion by offering to meet Lestrange and work it out. He reminded himself he couldn't know the future, runes or no runes. He felt strongly the way forward was through Lestrange, not around him. Still, that was a feeling. There was no way to be sure. Lestrange could be hit by lightning and struck down dead. Such things happened.

At the end of his ruminations Harry concluded the correct path was to secure his family as best he could, continue to run his department, and let the aurors and prosecutorial service work on the legal issues swirling around the Jacques Lafleur organization.

Harry was about to step into the fireplace in the Potter Manor salon for the return trip to London when Lissette knocked on the door and stepped into the room.

"Could I…?" she asked as she stood still one step into the room.

"Of course," Harry said. He looked at Daphne who had been waiting to see him off.

"'Bye," Daphne said, giving him a peck on the cheek before turning toward the door herself.

"You don't have to go," Lissette said. "This might be helpful to you."

"Let's all have a seat, then," Harry said. Daphne got to the door and closed it before sitting down.

"I don't know a lot about the Lestrange family," Lissette began. "My parents fell out and got divorced before I started at Hogwarts. My father wasn't at home much even before that. Once he was gone, my mother didn't make an effort to keep me in contact with my grandparents, so I barely know them.

"Jacques Lafleur, or Michel Lestrange, is some degree of cousin, from the French Lestrange branch. That's all I know. I thought you should know, too. It occurred to me that I might be able to be useful if I got back in touch with the family, through my grandparents. I'm at your service, Lord Harry."

Harry looked at Daphne. He didn't know what to make of the look on Daphne's face, which was so neutral Harry thought she must have spent hours practicing before a mirror. A thought nagged at the back of his mind: "She really thinks I'm going to take her up on it."

"That's quite gallant of you, Lissette," Harry said. "I'd certainly welcome anything that comes to you in the way of news about our friend Michel. Let's not think about sending you out as some kind of undercover operative just now, though. Okay? There are a lot of pitfalls. Legal, ethical. I'm going to ask you not to reach out, for now. Is that alright with you? We need to be getting you supplied and equipped for your seventh year, and you definitely won't need the distraction from your studies."

Daphne's icy neutral face softened as she looked at Lissette.

"You're very brave, Lissette, but you're so young. We appreciate the fact that you want to help, but it wouldn't be right for us to put you in danger, no matter how slight the risk," Daphne said. She got up and opened the door to the hallway, waited for Lissette to step out and gave Harry one more mystifying look before leaving.

Harry's department had excellent contacts among the witches and wizards so it did not surprise him when he got back following his extended lunch and found a note from Pythagoras asking if he could meet with the other heads of section and give them guidance, even if he had to sanitize their version for security reasons. Harry realized that word of his encounter with Lafleur/Lestrange had gotten back and more or less forced his hand. Luckily, Harry's assistant managed to find a time suitable for everyone that afternoon. Harry convened the meeting in the most secure conference room on his floor and gave a brief account of his meeting with Jacques Lafleur.

"That was it," he said, "For today, at least. Something about Lafleur's manner caused me to think developments could come quickly, so have your individual offices ready, please. The minister and the other decision makers will be counting on us."

Harry looked at Pythagoras, who sat to his left.

The analyst nodded.

"We'll incorporate your report, of course, sir," he said. "We'll be accused of needless ambiguity, which we're used to. Not complaining, just a foreshadowing so you can be prepared."

"I'd wish for something more solid but someone advised me to be careful when wishing, just this morning," Harry said. "I believe that is sound advice, in the present case. We don't need this kind of problem, in my view. The Lafleur organization or movement or whatever it is crossed a couple of lines into outright criminality. The main body seems to be staying in the realm of self-help group, or something of the sort. The leader's explicit threats to me notwithstanding. People have a right to their own spiritual paths, so let's be extra-careful not to give the appearance this department is tampering with that."

Murmurs of concurrence went around the table. Each of the section chiefs probably had his own perspective on how to walk that fuzzy line. Harry hoped any errors would be on the side of caution. There wasn't a need for normal adherents to suffer. Lafleur/Lestrange's conflict was with Harry Potter, not the ministry.

Harry sent an owl prior to closing up his office for the day. He locked up his working materials and logged the closure of his safe, looked around for stray parchments, circulated through his outer office, and was ready to leave when his owl returned.

"Heading to cafeteria now. H." read the return message.

Harry found Ron and Hermione at a table in the corner of the ministry cafeteria. They'd had the presence of mind to bring an extra coffee for Harry.

"Thanks for coming," Harry said. "How is everyone? I haven't seen Hugo. You'll bring him on the thirty-first, I hope?"

Ron looked at Hermione. Harry knew something passed between them, but he didn't know what it was.

"I expect so," Ron said. "He's gotten his books. He gets ready for next term, and he exercises. That's it. All to prepare for the aurors' entrance exams. That's six years off, at minimum. My long term plans were made as far as the next meal when I was his age."

"I remember," Harry said, "Hugo's mother, though had a little longer view, as best I recall."

Hermione broke off her stare at Ron to thank Harry.

"He can't help it, Harry," she said, nodding at Ron. "It's the short-term memory. He was born without one."

Ron sipped his coffee, conveying blissful unawareness.

Harry went over his lunch with Lafleur before soliciting insights from his two oldest, most trusted friends. Neither had much to add, at first. Ron's Wizengamot investigations office was mainly synopsizing the auror's reports and putting them in easily-readable condensations for the members. The Unspeakables were always more interested in consuming than they were in sharing, unless some grave threat to the community came to their attention, and Hermione typically took those straight into a closed-door briefing with Kingsley, since it would be his decision whether to move to public dissemination. This afternoon, though, Hermione took a slightly different approach.

"Harry," she began, "What is the story on Cebu?"

"What do you know about Cebu?" Harry asked.

"You did some studying there, while you were on your travels," Hermione replied. "It's in the records. Something related to judo? Was that all?"

"Hermione, I can tell when you're working your way around to something," Harry said. "Why don't you go ahead and ask what you want to know?"

"Alright, Harry, if you're going to be that way, are you using dark magic? Did you study the Dark in Cebu?" Hermione asked, a little put out with Harry for taking over the conversation. Hermione liked being in the driver's seat a little too much to completely cover her exasperation.

"Yes," Harry said. "And now you know. Are you still speaking to me, following my revelation?"

Ron had his coffee cup halfway to his lips when he froze, then slowly lowered the cup to the table.

"Harry," Ron said, "After everything…"

"Yes, after everything we went through, and my mother, and my father, and Remus, and Tonks and Sirius," Harry said. "It isn't something one undertakes lightly. You can believe me or not, as you choose. I'll just pass on a little overview, then you're free to decide.

"Dark and Light are constructs," Harry began. "I studied with Master Francisco in Cebu to put my mind back together after the war. We started with the noble discipline of Ju-Jitsu. A few months of the forms and meditation did wonders. He saw something in me and kept setting new goals, giving me more exercises and one day I had a breakthrough. Magic is magic. Dark and Light are labels. Use magic for an unworthy purpose, that's Dark, no matter how innocuous. Conversely, a witch or wizard can tap the power of what we commonly call Dark to do something good. Protect the weak. Right a wrong. Make amends for an error we have made in our treatment of others. Children don't differentiate, then they start their magical studies and the adults begin to teach them about the labels.

"I don't disagree, of course," Harry went on. "That has been the method here in Britain for a millennium, or more, and for good reason. It takes a great deal of practice to handle undiluted magic and not be destroyed as a result.

Harry looked around. It was close to time for the cafeteria to close, so the nearby tables were empty.

"Some things, like horcruxes, are inherently evil," he said. "The rending of one's own soul via the commission of murder cannot be justified, ever. The wizard who does that misuses the power. Drawing on the power available to save a life though, if that were necessary, would not have the same negative consequences, even though it would all be the same power, from the same source.

"The meditation is necessary to insulate the practitioner from the seductive effect of all that magical power running through one's skin, bones, muscles and blood," Harry said. "The susceptible mind will be turned. My own theory is that happened to our friend Riddle. He was captured by the magic. The mind wants to think it captures and tames. That is an illusion. Tom Riddle had felt the ecstasy from working magic, there in the orphanage, before he ever met Dumbledore. If he hadn't gotten magical training, he might have become another Ripper. Who knows? He never really had a chance, though, in my view. When the power takes over the unprepared wizard's body, the wizard throws his mind in, of his own volition! The wizard who thinks he can resist by force of his own will is doomed, before he begins.

"I acknowledge my weakness," Harry said. "I take refuge in the teachings handed down in my master's lineage. I work faithfully at my physical and mental exercises to stay on the path I've been shown."

Harry placed his flattened right hand over his sternum and inclined his head.

"I ask your forgiveness if I have caused offense."

Ron looked at Hermione, who looked back. Neither said anything. Harry held his position.

"Harry…" Ron tried.

"There is nothing to forgive, Harry," Hermione said, "You can sit up now."

Harry sat up straight. The lamps in the ministry cafeteria were going out, following a centuries' old practice no one really understood. For some reason, before closing, half of the lamps went out at once, then five minutes later, half of the remainder went out, then five minutes later, and so on.

"It is very volatile magic," Harry said. "Just carrying it around in normal times takes a bit of work. Nothing a disciplined wizard can't manage, as long as one pays attention. There are vows that must be taken, before the student begins. Even if he drops out, the vows are in force. Michel Lestrange took his vows. I reminded him of his obligations at our lunch meeting today. When we parted, he did not seem amenable to taking corrective action. We can hope he reconsiders. I don't find it at all pleasant to be in the state I'm in at the moment."

No explanation was given for the state, what it was, why he was in it, or what it was doing to him.

"Look at the time," Harry said. "I hate to break us up, we don't do this nearly enough. Can we look for a convenient day to have the Granger-Weasleys out to Potter Manor for a nice lunch and some lane-strolling? You take Hugo in hand, none of that all work and no play for the young man, I insist, even if he is a Ravenclaw. Rose will probably be out there with us anyway."

"Of course, Harry," Hermione said. "You check with Daphne and I'll be sending along a proposed date."

Ron didn't look at either one of them as they walked to the exit.

Harry made his way to the seniors' apparation point, then on to the front lawn of Potter Manor. He passed the place where Lissette turned Fiona into a pig. The thought occurred to him that he might want to put something there to mark it. Perhaps a little block of stone with a bronze plaque in the shape of a pig. The more he thought of it the more he liked the idea. The transfiguration was almost certainly going to become a family legend. Maybe the children would like to be able to show the exact spot to the grandchildren when they retold the story some decades in the future.

"Hullo!" Harry called when he got to the rear of the house. No one appeared to be around the patio or the green, but he saw movement through the glass of James' greenhouse. He didn't get a response from inside in answer to his greeting, so Harry ambled on down the slope, where he found James taking a bunch of dried-out, unidentifiable stalks to a pile of compost he was forever building up.

"Dad," said James when Harry came around the corner of the building. "Got something to show you. Look at this."

James led the way into the greenhouse. When Harry got inside he stopped and stared. Row upon row of rough wooden tables marched down the center of the greenhouse, some with terra cotta pots all over a flat top, others with little risers on them, also with pots or other containers out of which grew plants of all sizes.

"What do you think?" James asked, all smiles.

"Expansion charm?" Harry asked, the only intelligent thing he could think of. Harry stepped back outside and estimated the size of the original greenhouse.

"Has to be, doesn't it?" Harry asked when he stepped back in. "How did you do it?"

"Grandmother," said James. "She came over to see Mum and the rest of us, and she was chatting me up and asked what I was going to do next down here, and I told her I wanted to add on. We ended up walking down and she suggested we make more room inside, rather than spoil my exquisitely proportioned conservatory. Her words."

"Oh, I can almost hear her," Harry said. He started to laugh.

"Merlin, she is one elegant witch," Harry added.

"A little wand work and an incantation or two, and here we are!" James said.

"And you've been re-potting or starting seedlings all afternoon?" Harry asked.

"Pretty much," James said. "You're not going to turn me in, are you? Strictly speaking…"

"It was all inside here?" Harry asked.

"Yes," said James.

"You were just using your wand, inside the wards? I am not sure that is objectionable. We can just keep it to ourselves, of course, for now," Harry said.

"Works for me," James said. "What do you think?"

"I think it is a fine use of magic, and it did save your exquisitely proportioned conservatory," Harry said. "Who else knows?"

"You, me and Grandmother," James said. "Want a fresh tomato? Here."

Harry and James walked slowly back up the hill, Harry listening to James' patter about his plants, munching on the tomato and looking at the manor Daphne and Fabio had designed so he could re-establish the Potter family seat. Potters began emerging as James and Harry walked up the hill. It was just a few weeks after Midsummer, in Devon, so the light would be good well past nine o'clock.

"Hullo, Potters!" Harry called toward the patio.

Various 'Hullo, Harry' and 'Hullo, Father' permutations came back.

"I had an idea," Harry said. "What do you think of getting some blankets out to the green and having dinner as a picnic? We might even get a faun to join us, if we're lucky."

Everyone thought that an excellent idea for a July evening. Melon and Periwinkle were both present and had plenty of blankets spread out in no time. Plates of bread and bowls of salads followed, then fish, vegetables from the Potter, Greengrass and Lupin gardens, and lemon squares. Plum apparently smelled the feast and emerged from the woods with the arrival of the fish course. Fauns aren't big meat eaters but he took a few bites, just to be polite, before getting serious about the vegetable offerings. When he finished eating Plum asked permission to fill some plates for the woodlanders who would certainly be standing just inside the tree line in vicarious attendance. Everyone took their time and no one wanted the evening to end, including Davis and Evans who exhibited impeccable behavior throughout. Full dark arrived, a very bright half moon rose in the east, and the party lingered, several lying back, staring straight up, the better to watch the stars come out.

Daphne reached the end of her endurance, though, and reluctantly declared it time for Evans and Davis to go inside. Harry picked up one in each arm and headed back to the house with Daphne.

The twins were asleep by the time they got upstairs.

"Good job, Harry," Daphne said. "You either have the touch, or you got very lucky."

"I got lucky when you came along, Healer Daphne," Harry said. "That's the only explanation I've found. I'm not far behind the lads."

"Oh," Daphne said as she looked toward their bedroom, "I was hoping you'd take your time with me tonight. Unless you're desperate to get to sleep, of course."

The following morning found Harry out on the patio when the sun was still quite low, enjoying his first cup of coffee and reliving the previous day's picnic on the green. Tracey, Daphne and the Daily Prophet arrived more or less simultaneously. Harry got a look at the front page and handed the paper off to Daphne.

"Here we go," he said.

Two stories seemed to be competing to set the narrative. One headlined the recent arrests of Lafleur adherents for corruption in the manipulation of ministry contracts to benefit the Lafleur organization. The second was not quite a puff piece, but it was close to it. Lafleur had credentials, Lafleur was a savvy businessman, Lafleur had helped thousands of witches and wizards with his seminars and voluntary social welfare efforts.

"If all publicity is good publicity," Daphne said, handing the paper on to Tracey, "Jacques Lafleur just hit a jackpot."

Publicity was something with which Tracey was familiar, and she didn't just read the two pieces, she devoured them.

"All other considerations aside, Lafleur has quite the public relations shop," Tracey admitted.

"Maybe you can glean some tips from them for me," Harry said.

"Don't worry about it, Harry," said Daphne. "The industry is always doing this. Someone with good speaking skills appears on the scene, they do a little self-help routine, they're all the rage for a few years and they fade away. Another one takes their place."

"Industry?" Harry asked. He didn't know there was a Lafleur industry.

"Motivation, self-help, magical potential, positive magic, whatever you call it, it's all the same," Daphne said. "It amounts to an industry. It's a big business. It works for a lot of people. Mental maladies professionals bump up against the same population. Lives don't work out, people seek help, some find relief in a Jacques Lafleur seminar. Some of them need real the help of real healers. Problems arise when the leaders cultivate blind obedience."

"Okay," Harry said, "Lafleur is running a racket. It's a sweet little racket and he doesn't want it to end. As long as he isn't stealing public money or letting his subordinates exploit underage boys and girls, he's free to operate. So what is he doing pushing back against the ministry? Why come looking for me? I'm not an auror or a prosecutor. I don't understand it."

"That's a good question," Tracey observed. She drained her coffee mug and looked around for Melon, with whom Tracey shared a private magical wireless connection. Melon appeared with a little 'pop' and a fresh mug, took Tracey's empty and 'popped' out of existence, all under ten seconds. Tracey took a sip of her coffee.

"My guess would be he expects to be engaged in some criminal activities, like the funds diversion, as a standard practice. He has contempt for the kinds of laws that try to control corruption. He isn't corrupt in his own mind, so he doesn't think those are legitimate," Tracey said. "He never grasped right or wrong as factors to consider when he is contemplating taking an action. He's using public relations techniques to manipulate his followers and influence public opinion. You are onto him and he fears your implacable opposition."

Harry and Daphne sat, staring at Tracey, then slowly shifted to looking at each other.

"That's pretty profound…" Harry began.

"For a party girl?" Tracey came back.

"Not at all," Harry said. "For anyone. Besides, I don't think you're a party girl, and I never have. Even when you run around changing your silk pajamas three times a day. That's just…colorful, and fun to have in my household."

Tracey looked at Daphne, who rolled her eyes but managed to hold her tongue.

"So, I want to hear your analysis of where he's going with this," Harry said. "How does this develop? Based on your business experience, not the parties."

"People who do public relations, external relations, event planning, whatever your preferred terminology, we get this all the time. The clients who wouldn't think of cheating anywhere else want us to work for free, settle for lesser amounts after the work is delivered, clean up their dirty money, you name it," Tracey said. "Sure, I'll plan a party for anyone. It's a professional service like law or architecture, only the client is paying for my expertise in putting them in touch with their target audience, getting the audience in the door, and putting the audience in the mood to hear the client's pitch. I don't feel a compulsion to help the client engage in unethical behavior. Nor, for the record, will I have sex in exchange for a signed contract, as if that were here or there."

"Merlin, Tracey!" Harry nearly exploded. "You're asked to do that? That's completely unacceptable. I won't have it."

Tracey and Daphne started to laugh at Harry's naïve, red-faced reaction.

"Welcome to Witch World, Harry!" Daphne said. "But you had asked Tracey something?"

"Where it ends?" Tracey said. "When Jacques Lafleur makes a mistake. When he gets too big for his britches, gets corrected, doesn't take it well and over-reacts. That's the trajectory. Pure speculation at this point, of course."

"Actually, that's a very informed guess, based on recent history," Daphne said. "There are parallels in the magical and muggle worlds. I'm sure you both remember. Group suicides, charismatic religious and political leaders going down in flames. You brought one of them down yourself, Harry, as I recall."

"I had help," Harry said, attempting a little deflection. "That other stuff, though, Tracey, I…"

"It's nothing you do, Harry," Tracey said, "Just because there are wizards about who don't exhibit the characteristics of the well-bred magical. Besides, I'm convinced a few gentlemen improved their manners right away when someone mentioned I belong to the Grandee Lord Harry Potter-Black."

Harry leaned back in his chair and put both hands over his face.

"Not again," he said, nearly a whisper. "Besides, Blaise is a much bigger bad-ass than me. Why don't they stay clear of you because of him?"

"Well, I don't know if Blaise is a bigger bad-ass than you, although he's big and bad enough," Tracey said. "He doesn't get credit for beating the crap out of Gellert Grindelwald, though, does he? He didn't take the Elder Wand away from the Dark Lord, either, did he?"

Daphne thought Tracey's patronizing treatment of the oblivious Harry just about the funniest thing going on Earth at that moment.

"Okay, back to being serious, then," Harry tried again. "Lafleur hit on a way to dazzle fairly significant numbers of witches and wizards, then he got caught doing some corruption with public money, and at least a few of his close associates flunked self-discipline and are now locked up. But why the press campaign? He had two well-placed assets in the ministry, why compromise them with clumsiness? Then there is that foolishness in the Leaky Cauldron. Merlin. I have no idea what that was about.

"He knew of my studies with Master Francisco, that was obvious," Harry said. "It follows he would have known he is under interdict for breaking his vows. I could have challenged him right there, grabbed him by the collar and apparated here to the green or the Black estate or Torshavn and obliged him to defend himself. He gambled that I wouldn't. What is his angle?"

A voice came from the doorway, "Father? It's Mercury. He took the floo to your study."

Harry turned to see Iolanthe standing just inside the house, Lissette right behind her.

"Booklists?" Harry asked as he passed the young witches. "Do we have them here? Are they ready to send to Flourish and Blotts? Let me do a little reading and we'll synchronize our Things To Do lists."

Mercury's reading was interesting but not particularly revealing. Nothing appeared to need immediate action to correct a mortal peril threatening British Wizardry, nor was there any movement in the subject areas Harry's department had been monitoring. Aside from the individuals already arrested or being investigated the Lafleur movement was quiet. Harry cleared everything else out and bade his mind tell him what was not being reported, as he had not identified anything on his first reading.

"Mercury, water, coffee, tea before your journey?" Harry said without looking up from the file.

"Nothing today, sir," Mercury said.

Before long, Harry held out the file, and Mercury took it.

"Have a pleasant day, sir."

With that, Mercury stepped into the fireplace, dropped his powder and disappeared with the green flames.

Harry was approaching the door when Iolanthe and Lissette stepped inside the study.

"May we?" Iolanthe asked. Harry gave the only answer he ever gave to Iolanthe's requests.

"Of course, come in, sit down," Harry said. "Something to eat or drink?"

Iolanthe and Lissette sat on the green leather settee. Both shook their heads.

"Go ahead," Iolanthe said. Lissette looked like she expected Iolanthe to handle the speaker's duties, but she drew in her breath and began at Iolanthe's nod.

"Lord Harry," Lissette began, "They want to force you out of the ministry. I heard you talking about seeing Lafleur, and how he spoke to you. That is what it's about."

"That is my working theory," Harry said, "But I'm having trouble figuring out why? You wouldn't have any ideas about that, by chance?"

"I think it is because you are a strong supporter of Kingsley Shacklebolt and they want to force him out and put someone in who will do what Lafleur wants," Lissette said. "They probably believe you have to be gone before they can get to the minister. I think they could become dangerous, so please be careful."

"Thank-you, Lissette, we'll all be careful, right?" Harry directed the last to Iolanthe.

"Right?" Harry asked again.

"Yes, of course, Father," Iolanthe confirmed.

"Now, if you're feeling threatened here," Harry began, returning to Lissette, "We can arrange for you to stay someplace safe and distant from us until you all return to Hogwarts in September. We have options available and we won't think any less of you if you'd like to do that."

"NO!" said Lissette, suddenly appearing agitated. "I feel safe here. Like I'm part of your family. I never had that before."

To Harry, it looked like Lissette was about to break down, so he despatched Iolanthe with a, "Could you ask your mother to join us? Tracey, too, if she's still on the premises." Iolanthe returned to the study with Daphne and Tracey less than a minute later.

"Lissette just told us she likes it here. She is beginning to feel like one of the family," Harry said. "I offered her the chance to go, if she wanted to wait this out somewhere else. She refused."

He turned back to Lissette.

"You are part of the family, under Iolanthe's protection, as long as you're here with us," Harry said. "You might have come to us in an unconventional manner, but you are legally part of Iolanthe's household, which is a dependency of the Potter-Black clan of which I am the head. You don't have any Potter or Black ancestry, by any chance? That simplifies things."

"Not that I know of," said Lissette.

"Are you contracted or bound by any agreements?" Harry asked. "By which I mean promised in marriage, or pledged as security for anything? Family debts, or one of those perpetual alliances between families, for example?"

"No," said Lissette.

Harry turned to the portrait of Phineas Nigellas Black, the one Daphne had liberated from the wall opposite the door to the Slytherin witches' dormitory, to which Harry had given a home in his Potter Manor study.

"Headmaster, are you awake?" Harry asked.

"I am now," Phineas Nigellas answered, making it sound like he was doing so under protest.

"The young lady with the Honorable Miss Iolanthe Astoria is another fine Slytherin witch, whose family, to their shame, did not appreciate her qualities of scholarship and loyalty, nor her demonstrated skills as a witch. You've had the chance to observe her for some weeks now, as has Madame Walburga, and of course all the distinguished Blacks at the estate," Harry said. "The Potters are distressed by her ambiguous status and I'm inclined to exercise my prerogatives and offer Miss Lissette Lestrange association with the clan with all the obligations and privileges thereunto pertaining. Speak now or forever hold your peace."

The late headmaster disappeared from his portrait almost instantly. Harry turned back to Lissette.

"The obligations aren't onerous," he began. "No taxes, for example. We fund the Black scholars' kit for school, and you can use the Black owls. You seem to be a fighter so that shouldn't be a problem, but we do expect everyone to do their part, if we end up in a battle. There haven't been any feuds with another clan recently…"

"Lord Harry," said the figure in Phineas Nigellas' portrait. Harry looked up to see the late headmaster was back, along with a frame full of Blacks from ages past.

"Lord Harry, the consensus is this Slytherin witch would seem to be a perfect fit for the Blacks, once she's had a little time to accustom herself to the demands of the position, and the assembled encourage you to declare her our familiar immediately."

Murmurs of assent sounded from the portrait, where the heads behind Phineas Nigellas nodded in affirmation.

"Very well," Harry said. He looked at Daphne, who gave him a wink and a very subtle thumbs-up. He motioned to Lissette to move closer, took each of her hands in one of his and clasped them all together.

"Miss Lissette Lestrange, you are a free witch of Britain who has attained her majority. We are offering you association with the noble houses of Potter and Black and the protection of our forces. As long as you voluntarily remain under our authority you will be obliged to accept our guidance if offered and to defend your lord's person and his estates as if they were your own. Do you accept?"

"Yes," said Lissette, barely above a whisper.

"Congratulations," Harry said. "Go forth one of us."

Iolanthe, Daphne and Tracey surrounded the weeping Lissette and led her from the study. Harry waved his wand and closed the door. He was about to return his attention to analysis of the Lafleur situation, which was now becoming the only thing he was able to think about, when Phineas Nigellas cleared his throat.

"Sir?" said Harry as he spun his chair to look at the portrait.

"If I may be so bold, milord," began the headmaster in his strange mix of courtly and crotchety, "Where are your rings?"

"Rings?" Harry asked. He had on the platinum wedding band Daphne had slipped on his finger when they were married. That was usually the extent of his jewelry, if one didn't count his watch.

"Your signet rings," the headmaster replied. "You're the head of two noble families. Your people look to you for guidance. You manage your responsibilities, without question you merit the highest honor and respect, but your signet rings are symbolic of your position. Besides, I can't speak for the Potters, but the Blacks found the Lord's signet ring to be a handy repository for things like authenticating spells and access charms."

"Headmaster," Harry began, sighing just a little. "Here is the Potter signet."

Opening one of his desk drawers, Harry removed a little velvet-covered box and removed a gold ring, a perfect fit for the little finger of his left hand.

"The Black signet is in the Black vault at Gringotts," Harry sighed. "Forgive me, Headmaster, but considering some of our cousins, and their propensity for mayhem, I have always feared the possibility the Black ring bore a curse. Or, possibly, curses. The ring went with me on my first visit to the estate, and was very useful when I had to pass a ward or unlock a lock. I was careful to treat it with respect and return it to the vault, where I hold it in trust for the family."

"Caution, a very underrated virtue, of course," Phineas Nigellas said. "A few of us, even a partisan like me must admit, took things a little too far at times. On the other hand, Lord Harry, there are challenges looming. The most formidable challenges, even on this side we sense your concerns. You can't know in advance every kind of help you will need. You have a heart worthy of Godric Gryffindor. You can master that ring."

"Thank-you, Headmaster," said Harry. "I value your perspective and your expression of confidence. I honestly had not thought in those terms prior to this moment."

Harry's time for homely pleasures had run out. He resolved again to find a successor and retire to the management of his lands and enterprises and the raising of his family, but it was not going to happen that very day. Harry found Daphne on the patio with Iolanthe, Lissette and Millicent.

"Time to be off," he said. "I'll be in touch."

He glanced at Iolanthe, she giving him in return a very fake smile to indicate she knew her instructions, and would comply. Harry returned to his study, Daphne in tow.

He pulled Daphne into a long embrace while they stood in front of the fireplace.

"Be careful," Harry said, punctuating the admonition with a brief increase in hugging intensity. Harry caught the scent of Daphne's herb-infused soap on the little puff of air that his hugging pressed up from the space between her breasts.

"YOU be careful," Daphne said. "You've got people depending on you."

"Well, so do you," Harry returned. "A whole ward full, and a staff that supports them. We also have to coordinate To-Do lists. I already advised the young witches."

"So many competing priorities, Harry Potter," Daphne said. "Stay alive. Buy quills."

Harry felt a sudden need to go on record.

"I love you," he said, raising his hand to the back of Daphne's head, pressing his cheek against hers. "None of this would have happened without you. Thank you for having the room in your heart for me. For all of us."

"It's not that difficult, Harry," Daphne assured him as she hugged him back.

Harry did manage to actually leave the house that morning, taking the floo to the ministry, exiting to the street, and walking to the coffee shop on the way to his own building. The Head Unspeakable looked out through the plate glass, watching pedestrians as she stood at the shelf mounted on the wall, a paper cup in hand, a second on the shelf. Harry walked in the coffee shop door and Hermione pushed the second cup in his direction.

"Sweet!" Harry said. "How'd you know?"

He understood he wouldn't get an answer, even as he asked.

"We had a long talk at home," Hermione said. Like Kingsley, she had a talent for conveying tons of information without actually coming out with it.

"And yet, here you are with a cup of coffee ready for me," Harry teased.

"We don't really have a choice, not that we would choose anything different," Hermione said in a surprisingly personal comment.

"I always count on that," Harry said. "It didn't take long for me to learn. Not that I'd ever abuse it, at least not consciously."

"And that is the secret of our success, Harry," Hermione said. "Do what you think you have to do.

"Now, suppose the Granger-Weasleys take you up on your offer of hospitality this coming Saturday?"

"That works, as far as I know," Harry said. "Let's each resolve to send Daphne an owl or a patronus or some other communication, and one of us will be sure to remember. Lunch, then an afternoon of country pleasures and diversions?"

"I suppose," Hermione said. "What else is there to do in Devon?"

Hermione looked at the clock over the coffee shop counter.

"Mysteries," she said, "Always more mysteries."

Harry understood Hermione felt the office calling to her.

"Thanks for the coffee," Harry said, raising his cup as they stepped over to the street door. "And everything else."

Hermione had already returned to her customary Head Unspeakable inscrutability, but she did give Harry just the slightest flicker of her eyebrows before turning and walking back toward the ministry. Harry went in the opposite direction, diverting his eyes from the business fronts, reaching out and finding the handle on the door that led inside to his office.

After exchanging greetings with Jubal and everyone else between the front door and his desk, Harry looked for anything new on his desktop that might require a response. Seeing nothing, he stepped outside and spoke to his assistant.

"Anything?" he asked.

"Not until eleven," the assistant said, looking at the planner. "Principals' meeting."

"I'll be taking a few minutes, then," Harry said. "Gringotts."

Harry took the floo from his office to Gringotts One. The goblins weren't that busy due to the hour, and Harry was soon standing before a Black vault deep beneath the bank. One might have thought just being there would have triggered immobilizing memories, in such close proximity to the ground where he, Ron and Hermione had nearly been captured by Gringotts own security force before escaping on a stolen dragon, leaving chaos and destruction in their wake. Instead, he felt a small, private smile asserting itself, and resolved to keep the memory to himself.

The ring was in its velvet drawstring bag right where Harry had left it. He started to put the ring, bag and all in his pocket, changing his mind when he felt it through the fabric and recalled Phineas Nigellas' words: "You can master that ring." Opening the bag, he removed the ring and put it on the third finger of his right hand. He raised his head and looked around the vault, which was one of a number of Black vaults on that level, some of which held only a nominal treasure or two. Blacks had run through the serious pieces and bags of galleons years before, the ancient, near-mythical generations' surplus squandered by their successors' affinity for feuds and losing causes. There was probably some arcane reason the vaults remained Black, but Harry had never known what that was.

The contents might have been spare, compared to past glories, but for the most part they were old. Harry saw visual echoes of the Viking and Anglo-Saxon hoards he had seen in the British Museum. He stood in the midst of his treasure, wearing signs of his offices and breathing the air of the vault in through his nose. Phineas Nigellas was right. He felt Black flowing through him, perhaps intensified by the bits of family present in the articles around him. Did traces of the spirits of long-dead Black heroes and heroines cling to the pieces they had handled and used? Could the property be infused with a bit of them?

Harry decided to close up and make one more stop before returning to the surface.

"I'll be at the Potters', he informed his goblin escort, "I know the way. Just bring the cart."

"Of course, Lord Harry," said the goblin, bowing.

Harry walked along, reading name plates or trying to remember the coats of arms that identified some vaults. He was in the central nervous system of British magic, a millennium of magical treasure and families, fruits of well-negotiated marriages, successful business ventures, loot taken from the defeated in exchange for sparing a life. It was all kept deep under London in the care of goblins, and Harry strode through it by right, the head of two families himself. Harry arrived at the Potter vaults, picked out a door at random, and touched it with his signet.

The door swung open. He didn't bother with _lumos_. It would have been redundant for the Potter hoard had plenty of lamps of all descriptions that sensed the lord's presence and lit themselves for his convenience.

"We will be in battle soon," Harry thought. "I am glad I got to see all of you again."

Harry felt the same thing he had felt with the Black hoard, a tingling of his skin that made him think the shades of his ancestors were surrounding him, wishing him well. He stepped out and closed the door with his left hand, then stood listening as the door locked and sealed itself until the next time it pleased Lord Harry to visit.

The goblin outside had the little carriage ready to return.

"Back to the lobby, please," Harry said as he stepped aboard. The cart began to move along the rails.


	45. Chapter 45

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Forty-Five

The Honor of the Blacks

"Can I bring you something? A drink? Something to eat?"

Iolanthe didn't answer, choosing to give Lissette Lestrange a look instead.

Two owls were flying at top speed toward the patio table. Iolanthe picked them up around two hundred yards out and wanted to watch them coming in, getting bigger and bigger the closer they got. She had no doubt they were going to perch on the backs of chairs and await the removal of the messages tied to their legs.

"Tie!" Iolanthe proclaimed as the owls settled down, nearly simultaneously. The owls looked at one another and Iolanthe couldn't help thinking they were having some kind of telepathic owl debate.

"Periwinkle?" Iolanthe called out as she reached for a little slip of parchment on the nearest owl leg.

"Miss Iolanthe, how can Periwinkle help you this morning?"

"We need something to reward these owls for delivering their messages," Iolanthe said. "Does the kitchen have any bacon, ham, sausage…?"

Periwinkle snapped her fingers and materialized a small plate with some of each, already cut up into owl-sized portions.

"Thank-you, Periwinkle," Iolanthe said, reaching out for the second message. "Perhaps two glasses of pumpkin juice now?"

Owls fed and dispatched, Iolanthe picked up a little piece of sausage and popped it in her mouth.

"You might as well help me with these," she said, inviting Lissette to join her.

The notes were addressed to Daphne but Daphne wasn't there, justifying in Iolanthe's mind the reading of her mother's correspondence since the notes could bring news of a cataclysm or other emergency requiring immediate, heroic action to keep disaster at bay.

"Granger-Weasleys here this Saturday for lunch and socializing," Iolanthe declared. She perused the two notes, one from Harry, the second from Hermione.

"Harry Potter was supposed to let Mother know, but he forgot and has had to scramble. The speediest owl he could find still finished in a tie with Hermione's," Iolanthe said, her analysis spot-on. "Well, we'll not let anyone know our suspicions. Harry does not like to have multiple witches pissed at him at the same time. Something that springs from childhood trauma, I suspect."

"Ahem?"

Iolanthe and Lissette looked toward the patio door. Daphne stepped outside followed by Tracey and Millicent.

"Oh, Mother, so good you've arrived," said Iolanthe, recovering instantly because she felt no need to recover at all. "Off to work? Well, we've just gotten the most wonderful news. Here."

She handed over the little slips of parchment. Daphne read them before passing them to Tracey, who gave them a glance before letting Millicent have a turn.

"Yes, it's St. Mungo's for me, a bit of healing, a little administration," Daphne said. "Tracey has one meeting, over lunch?"

Tracey nodded.

"Can you be good witches while we are out earning? Thank-you in advance," said Daphne, leaning down to give Iolanthe a target for a good-bye kiss.

Tracey followed Daphne to the green, where they disapparated with a 'pop-pop.'

"Breakfast, Auntie?" Iolanthe asked as Millicent pulled out a chair.

"Certainly," Millicent said, eying Periwinkle's little plate of owl treats. "But…"

Iolanthe asked for Periwinkle so everyone could order a proper breakfast, including James and Zelda, who arrived nearly together with the elf. Iolanthe took her time over breakfast, using strategic rationing of bites to open up conversational opportunities. Partly it was her inherent good humor, partly it was a compulsion to engage with James, who was in a contemplative mood, thinking about growing the herbs needed by the future co-op's apothecary and potion-maker customers. The more James' silence went on, the more Iolanthe was determined to bring him out of his reveries.

A most unsatisfactory exchange brought a question from Zelda, to which James responded, "Don't know. Perhaps the Heir…?"

He waved a hand in Iolanthe's direction, getting her to flush nearly as red as one of his greenhouse tomatoes. As soon as Iolanthe and Lissette had finished, Iolanthe had a request for Millicent.

"Auntie Millicent, do you think we could go over to the woods and see what is up?" she asked. "This Lafleur business is upsetting my summer plans. I need to visit Plum, if I can't stroll a lane now and then."

"I don't see why not," Millicent replied. "Isn't it inside the wards?"

"I think so," Iolanthe said, shooting a questioning look at James.

"I think so, too," James said. "But you can always occupy yourself turning compost, don't forget."

Iolanthe picked up her bag and headed for the woods, Lissette following just a half-step behind.

Plum wasn't readily available, it seemed, woods or no woods. Iolanthe picked out a fallen tree and took a seat, Lissette taking a spot a few feet down the trunk.

"Miss Iolanthe," Lissette said.

"Iolanthe," Iolanthe corrected her.

"Are you sure?"

Iolanthe stopped turning the pages in her journal where she had been searching for a blank page to do some sketching.

"Lissette, of course I'm sure," Iolanthe answered. "Where did you get that, anyway? We're both Slytherin witches and you are senior to me. You're a seventh year. I'm supposed to pay obeisance to you. No one but the elves calls me Miss."

"I think, technically, I'm your retainer," Lissette said, just barely arguing. "I have to show some respect."

Iolanthe was already tired of the conversation, so she tried to cut it short with a kick-the-can promise.

"Fine, we'll work on it," she said.

"Can you tell me about the Heir?" Lissette asked.

"Lissette…what?" Iolanthe managed although she had nearly run out of words as well as patience.

"Mr. James called you the Heir?" Lissette said, making it a question. "Can you tell me what he meant?"

Iolanthe burst out laughing.

"Has that been bothering you?" she asked. "James! Arrgh!"

"First of all," she began, "Potters and Greengrasses don't sit around thinking about who is going to inherit what, or talking about it, for that matter. There is one exception. We were at Greengrass Manor with Mother and Grandmother one day and somehow the medieval origins of the estate came up and Grandmother explained how it is entailed, the rule being the estate passes to the eldest child of the lord, when he passes on. Mother was older than Auntie Astoria, and I'm Mother's eldest, so if we all do everything in the correct order, eventually…"

"You'll be…" Lissette continued.

"The Heir," confirmed Iolanthe. "Of course, I would much prefer Grandfather and Mother live to be four hundred-ninety-nine and spare me all the trouble. James Greengrass, however, delights in springing that on me. Just when I think he has forgotten about it, out it comes and he keeps a straight face while he does it. I'd throttle him but throttling would be much too kind. Anything else you want explore?"

Iolanthe was referring to the complex sociology of Harry and Daphne's household, which was peculiar without question, even by magical standards, but Lissette took her literally.

"The mill stream?" she asked, the hope apparent in her voice.

"I suppose," Iolanthe replied, not really thinking about what she'd just said. Iolanthe thought of The Mill as an extension of Potter Manor. It was true it was outside the wards but there were no other habitations nearby and it was surrounded by Potter land.

"Stay there," Iolanthe said, getting up. She crossed the little space to the next large tree and sat down, leaning back against the trunk. Iolanthe propped her journal on a knee and began a sketch of Lissette. The first sketch depicted a young woman with long black hair, wearing a skirt and blouse, sitting on a log. Iolanthe watched Lissette and stopped sketching when she looked like she was tiring.

"Want to move?" asked Iolanthe.

"Yes, please," said Lissette. She stood and stepped out of her sandals before shaking out her skirt, which she gathered and held tight in one hand while she knelt, then sat down on the floor of the woods. Lissette leaned on her right hand while she pulled her legs up and let a little of her weight transfer.

"This feels good," she said.

"You've got bowtruckles," Iolanthe said. "Just so you know, they like to braid hair."

"That's fine," Lissette said.

Iolanthe worked fast so she wouldn't overtax her model, but Lissette continued to insist she was comfortable in her seated position. Iolanthe got the outlines of Lissette and the fallen tree trunk in place and started in on detail. She finished one sketch in the new position and asked if Lissette needed to move.

Getting a negative reply, she began again, saving the hair to the last so she could draw it in as a braid with the bowtruckles' signature twigs as accents.

"Done," Iolanthe said, stepping over and giving Lissette a hand up. She held out the journal.

"Merlin, you are really good!" Lissette said. "I wish I'd been sitting in the mill stream, though."

"Really?" Iolanthe asked.

"Sure," Lissette answered. "Then whenever I looked at the drawing I'd see me in my favorite place."

"Let's go," Iolanthe said. "I can't believe anyone would cause trouble over there, not after Fudge and Nott got shown the exit."

Iolanthe set a medium pace and the two witches were soon in the dooryard in front of The Mill.

"Let's sit down and see if the fairies are feeling sociable," she said, picking a spot on the bench beside the door. It wasn't long before the tiny lights were coming to the bench from the trees, shrubs and the flowers that grew in the sunny places.

"Hullo to the fairies," said Iolanthe. "How are the fairies today?"

"The fairies are well, Iolanthe and…sprite," said the voice.

"Her name is Lissette," said Iolanthe. "I thought you knew her."

"The fairies know Lissette, the sprite," said the fairies' collective voice. "Hullo Lissette."

"Hullo, fairies," said Lissette.

"Lissette will be visiting the stream," Iolanthe said. "If the fairies see no objection."

The ball of lights buzzed and buzzed. All of the fairies, except those making crowns for the witches, seemed to have migrated to the ball.

"The stream enjoys the visit from the sprite Lissette," said the ball.

Iolanthe sat still on the bench, mulling over the cryptic fairy comment. Deciding there were no warning signals embedded in the pleasantry, she stood and pulled the strap of her satchel over her shoulder.

"The fairies can join us at the bridge," Iolanthe suggested.

"The fairies are at The Mill," said the voice as the ball of lights began to disperse.

"We wish the fairies well," Iolanthe said, neither expecting nor receiving a response.

The stone bridge was an arch and did not have to span a great distance so Fabio had designed it so that most of the weight was distributed to footings well back from the stream bank. Nevertheless, he had to allow for shifting water levels and some erosion, so some substantial stones were used to protect the bank under the bridge.

Lissette dropped her skirt, blouse and sandals on the grass and walked down to the little sand bar, then out into the current. The pool was a bit deeper than it had been, undoubtedly the result of recent water action. Lissette made her way to the largest flat rock under the far bridge footing and got out of the rest of her clothes. She found the deepest spot in the pool and lay down, her hands moving just enough to hold her place. Iolanthe took out her journal and turned to a blank page.

Lissette let the current take her downstream to the bridge, little by little, black hair unfurling ahead of her, then stepped up onto the flat rock. She pulled her braid around to her front and squeezed it out before closing her eyes and lying back on the rock to take a little sun. Iolanthe kept sketching. Human artists, witches or not, seldom got a live water sprite to model for them. Iolanthe watched Lissette stand up, assumed she'd gotten dry enough to start getting dressed, and was surprised to see her leave her clothes behind and follow the stream under the bridge.

"Iolanthe, want to see something?" said Lissette's voice, coming out from under the bridge as a mellow baritone.

"What?" asked Iolanthe, standing up and walking down the bank.

"It's…I don't know," said Lissette, "Just come look."

Iolanthe looked at the bank. She didn't see any way to get to Lissette without wading so she took off her own sandals and pulled up the legs of her jeans.

"What?" she repeated, standing in the current peering into the shadow.

" _Lumos_ ," said Lissette, pointing her wand at something. The light seemed to get sucked into a void.

Iolanthe had to see it for herself and splashed over to Lissette. When she got there she could see an opening at roughly the center of the bridge, an arch in the rough stone leading back into the far bank. The stone work didn't stop under the abutments at the corners, continuing instead well along the banks beneath the bridge. The work looked almost accidental, or natural, the stones not set in any regular way, nor cemented in the joints between them. They were clearly stable, though, by appearances.

"I smell magic," Iolanthe said, almost whispering.

"Got your wand?" asked Lissette.

Iolanthe drew her wand and held it out. Lissette freshened up her own charm as Iolanthe said " _Lumos_."

Something Iolanthe wanted to see more clearly disappeared completely in the light from the wands.

" _Nox_ ," said Iolanthe. "You, too."

When their wands went dark and their eyes adjusted, Iolanthe started to pick out faint blue-white lights inside the grotto.

"See them?" she asked.

"Yes," said Lissette. "Some kind of glow worm, I guess."

"We're out of time, but we have to go in," Iolanthe said. "We'll keep it short today and explore properly when everything has calmed down."

Five minutes later they were standing on the bank in the sunshine. Lissette finished buttoning her blouse and gave Iolanthe a smile.

"Ready."

The witches started back to the track that would take them to Potter Manor.

"Our best to the fairies," said Iolanthe as they passed the millstone. There were a few fairies about, but not enough, apparently, to get together and make their collective voice.

It was several minutes before either of the witches felt like spoiling their recent experience with talk. Finally, Iolanthe spoke up.

"I didn't know you could sing like that," Iolanthe said as they walked along.

"I don't sing like that," Lissette said, sounding a little puzzled.

"Well, all I can say is inside there, you sang beautifully," Iolanthe said. "Seriously."

"Thank-you," Lissette said before going silent.

"Mother used to tell me, when I was a little witch, not to look too closely or the magic would go away," Iolanthe said. "However that cave got there, it wasn't the stream that made it. We aren't going to share that with anyone. If they're meant to find it, they'll find it, just like you did. Maybe you are a sprite."

Iolanthe and Rose kept several owls busy transporting suggestions for consideration back and forth in preparation for a country Saturday in July. The proposals for activities were entirely meritless and redundant, of course, Iolanthe and Rose needing nothing more than each other's company to construct a memorable summer afternoon. They did enjoy the process, though, which was the whole point of the exercise.

"So?" Rose said when they crunched down the gravel path to visit James in his exquisitely-proportioned conservatory.

"Following the news closely, for the most part," Iolanthe said. "Father's still a bit off his feed, naturally. Fudge and Fiona coming here was jarring. We can't even ramble properly."

"Well, I must say, Iolanthe Astoria, the legend was burnished the day you transported your prisoners by dragon," Rose said.

"Here we are," said Iolanthe when they reached the greenhouse. "Now, hold that thought until you're properly interrogated."

"Hey," said James when Iolanthe, Rose and Lissette walked in.

"James, what…?" asked Rose. She looked at the interior, walked out and surveyed the exterior, then stepped back inside.

"Grandmother, and her wand," James said. "What do you think?"

"It's genius," Rose said. "How big is it?"

"I'm not sure," James said. "Whenever I've put another shelf together there has been enough room for it. I don't want to sound greedy, but…it's possible it goes on forever."

"Incredible," Rose said.

"So, James," said Iolanthe, "We were advised it is time to wash up and be participants in a very civilized magical luncheon. Can you be bothered?"

"I can fit it in," James allowed.

Lunch was predictably tedious, for the most part. The food was exceptional, the weather perfect and the adults were themselves. The next generation listened and smiled when cued. Once in awhile something interesting came up, but the adults intentionally edited their conversations to keep Jacques Lafleur and his conspiracy away from the young people. After all, they did not need to be exposed to the crime and danger—those could induce nightmares.

An owl arrived with a small package for Iolanthe. Everyone stopped eating and stared as she gave the owl a substantial piece of fish for his efforts, then put the package down next to her plate.

"What?" Iolanthe asked the assembly.

"Oh, we thought you'd open it and show us what it is," Harry said. "Of course, if you don't want to…"

"Iolanthe," Daphne said, "It is perfectly alright if you want to wait to open your package in private."

Rose, who knew what Iolanthe had been expecting, covered her mouth with her hand and studied the fruit bowl in front of her plate.

"Fine," Iolanthe conceded, pointing her wand at the package. The brown paper opened up and lay flat on the table, revealing a box about four inches by six. Iolanthe removed the cover and laid it aside.

"Oooooo…" said the entire table, except for Ron Weasley.

"What is it?" the table followed up, this time including Ron.

"It's a brooch," Iolanthe said. "It's a copy of a Viking brooch from the British Museum. I found a picture post card and sent it to Anthony Goldstein. I asked him a huge favor, just an estimate of what the goblins he works with would charge to copy it in silver. It looks like he sent me a sample. Wow."

"Anthony and the goblins are always outdoing expectations," Harry said. "What do you do with it?"

"It's a fastener," Iolanthe said. "Pull something through the circle and push the little dagger down through it."

"Brilliant," Hermione said, "Very historical."

"Thank-you," Iolanthe said, pleased the premier magical scholar of the previous generation, except for Iolanthe's mother, handed her a compliment.

Lunch was followed by a walk, the purpose of which, it was explained, with superb circularity, was to walk off lunch. Evans and Davis were stuffed into slings that Harry and Ron wore, soft blankets pulled up and draped over their faces to keep the sun out of their eyes. The route wasn't planned, other than combining stretches of several lanes that totaled someplace between three and four miles.

Iolanthe, Rose and Lissette walked together, a little behind Ron, Hermione, Harry, Daphne and the twins.

"How's the knitting?" Iolanthe asked. Rose knew what she meant.

"Getting more ambitious," Rose said. "Grandma Molly thinks it is time for a sweater. You know how popular those are."

Rose was keeping her voice down, lest Ron and Hermione hear. Molly's sweaters had once been Ron's least-favorite apparel item, but he had warmed to them as the years went on.

"In some cultures…" Iolanthe began.

"None of that," Rose said. "I mean it. We don't have time right now. If you think it would be misunderstood, or misinterpreted, I'll stop knitting."

Rose thought over her remark.

"No, I probably wouldn't," she admitted. "I just wouldn't be able to give it to him. For another year. Or two."

"Rose," Iolanthe said, then stopped.

"Uh-huh?"

"Oh, you have a heart of gold," Iolanthe said, "You have the biggest heart ever, and it is pure gold."

"Well, that's nice," Rose said. "That is really nice. No wonder we get along so well."

Iolanthe strolled along, and while she was strolling she remembered something she'd been waiting to ask.

"What did you hear about the prisoners?" she demanded. Something in her voice told Rose she might as well confess, without delay.

"The gossip, don't ask how it got out, is kind of all over London," Rose said, "Well, among a certain set."

Rose was having a hard time containing her glee, that was more than clear.

"I neither confirm nor deny, of course," Rose said.

"Of course," said Iolanthe.

"I haven't said anything about the pig, either," Rose continued. "Not even to them."

She did a quick motion with her chin toward Ron and Hermione.

"That's okay," Lissette said, "But thanks anyway."

"That was extraordinary witchcraft, by the way," said Rose.

"Thank-you," Lissette whispered.

Like all good things, the walk came to an end. The Granger-Weasleys retrieved Hugo from James' conservatory, got Rose away from Iolanthe and Lissette, and apparated back to London. Tracey and Zelda returned from lunch at Morgan Le Fay's. Zelda saw the silver brooch in its box on the patio table and wanted to know everything there was to know about it.

When things settled a bit and Daphne had the twins asleep upstairs, she pulled Harry into the library/gallery and closed the door.

"You're wearing your signets," she said. "I thought you feared Lord Black's ring was cursed."

"I did," Harry said. "Phineas Nigellas convinced me to get it out and put it on. He was very kind. He convinced me I can master this ring. His words, slightly paraphrased."

"I'm going to see Tracey," Daphne said. "Don't move."

Daphne left and returned almost immediately.

"This won't take long," she said, leading Harry to the fireplace.

"Grimmauld Place," Daphne said, dropping her floo powder.

"Did the late headmaster have any particular reason for encouraging you to don the tokens of your rank and office?" Daphne asked as they exited the fireplace in her study.

"He did, as a matter of fact," Harry said. "I am the head of two noble houses, my people need to see me exerting leadership, and, somewhat mysteriously, Phineas Nigellas said challenges lie ahead and I can't know what kind of help I will need. He also, notably, did not say the Black signet is not cursed, just that I can master it."

Daphne looked at Walburga, Harry following her gaze. Walburga's eyes were wide open. Daphne pulled out a drawer in the top section of her desk and removed a smaller version of Harry's ring.

"The Blacks make similar provision for your lady, Lord Black," Daphne said, handing over the ring. "Madame so informed me when I first came in here as Mrs. Potter. She felt strongly I should claim this ring, my titles and rights. I told her it would be presumptuous of me to get out ahead of my lord. According to the ancient and sacred ways of our people I am your property. If it is my lord's pleasure to claim me."

Daphne looked down as she held her right hand out to Harry. Sizing up the ring, and Daphne's hand, Harry slid the ring onto her little finger. Of course it was a perfect fit. Daphne felt the ring seat against her hand and gasped as she drew in her first breath as Lady Black. Her lungs filled with the air of the family seat, and she felt the power of a thousand years of ferocious Black magic racing with her blood to every cell in her body. Heart thumping, she looked at her lord, her eyes flashing as the amber tried to break through the blue-gray ice. Harry held her gaze while he raised her hand to his lips and kissed her ring.

"We are two souls, with one fate," Daphne declared, lips pulled back, her teeth bared. "My wand, my heart and my body are yours. Promise you will use me when the time comes."

"Daphne, I…"

"I will not bear the shame of losing you to an enemy while I live, Harry Potter, so PROMISE ME!"

"I promise I will use you, when the time comes," Harry said, "Merlin preserve us both."

"Much better, my lord," said Daphne.

"Kreacher!" Harry called, and the elf appeared. "Two firewhiskies, neat."

Harry kept staring straight ahead, Daphne's blue-gray irises suddenly deep caves leading back, back through time and space to the unknowable beginning, and perhaps beyond that.

Kreacher disapparated and returned almost immediately, a silver tray and two generous portions of firewhiskey in hand. Harry took them both from the tray handing one to Daphne.

"Thank-you," he said.

"Lord Harry, Lady Daphne," Kreacher said, bowing himself out the door.

"Shall we drink to 'Two Souls, One Fate' since it seems to be the connective tissue of our lives?" Harry said.

"Nothing could give me more pleasure and fulfillment right now, my lord," Daphne said, her voice soft, like down. They linked their right arms and threw down the whiskey. Harry looked at Daphne, and Daphne looked at him. They were essentially the same height so neither looked up nor down. The moment stretched on, and on, arms still linked as if they possessed independent wills. They did break away, just, and fell into a clinch, complete with a long, long kiss.

"We could have planned this better," Harry murmured, his lips next to Daphne's ear. "I'm desperate to escort you upstairs."

"We'll be back," Daphne said. "Meanwhile you may return me to Devon, and when you get upstairs you will take Lady Potter."

Harry turned so that both he and Daphne faced Walburga's portrait.

"Madame, we have a French usurper, a breaker of oaths on our island, and he is a nuisance to magical Britain. When we face him we will fight for Merlin, and the honor of the Blacks!" Harry said, getting a bit wound up.

"Hurrah!" shouted Walburga. "Finally! A Black warlord worthy of the name. No quarter, Harry Potter, none asked, none given. A nod to your beautiful consort as well. There is fire inside there."

"As I well know, Madame," Harry said. "The cool exterior is just that, but for her discipline as a Slytherin I would be scorched for standing this close."

"You'd best be off, then, and tend those little Blacks of yours," Walburga said, as she turned to speak to Daphne. "Best to Kendra, dear. We are all with you, from beginning to end, do you remember?"

"I do, Madame," Daphne said. "I do. Every day of my life."


	46. Chapter 46

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Forty-Six

St. Guinefort

The morning following the Potter-Blacks' claiming of their trophies, rights and privileges dawned clear and sunny. Harry rose eager for breakfast and looked forward to enjoying his meal on the patio while the sun was still low. If he was lucky, there might be a little salt air-scented breeze coming their way from the Channel.

Daphne was up and gone from their room when Harry woke, not an unusual occurrence for a couple when the wife is a professional woman and mother with babies. Those tend to be master organizers in any society, and they trade sleep for the knowledge they are doing the right thing by the little ones.

Daphne had once given Harry a long gown, much like the ones Dumbledore affected in his later years, as a birthday present. It had hung in the closet for long periods, but Harry had been pulling it out more and more to wear down for breakfast. He liked to wear it with a bill-less soft cap made of crimson silk with a gold brocade band. James and Iolanthe had commissioned the cap from Madame Malkin some Christmases past, and Harry was never absolutely certain whether it was meant to be a family in-joke folly or a serious reference to his admitted attachment to Gryffindor. Either way, he pulled the gown over his head, stepped into a pair of matching slippers, clapped his hat on his head and proceeded to the nursery.

A quick peek at the twins confirmed they were happily sleeping, so Harry crept out of the room and down the stairs. The patio was unoccupied, giving Harry his choice of seating. He looked around and picked out his table and chair to give him the best view down the valley to the Dart, with provision for avoiding an angle on the rising sun that would force him to scoot around again and again to avoid facing it directly. Harry had just finished pulling his chair up to the table when Daphne appeared, reaching down to place a cup of coffee, saucer and napkin in front of him. Harry looked around and gave her a smile.

"Good-morning," he said, "What a pleasant way to start the morning. Have you had breakfast?"

"I waited for you," Daphne said. "What would you like to eat?"

"Hadn't gotten that far," Harry said. "Will you sit down?"

Harry waved his hand at a chair, pushing it out so Daphne could sit. She sat down, an air of some sort around her.

"Periwinkle?" Harry called out.

The elf appeared at his side.

"Some coffee for Lady Daphne, please, and one of the anise biscotti she likes," Harry said.

When the coffee and cookie arrived, Harry took it himself and placed it in front of Daphne.

"May I?" he asked.

"Of course," Daphne said, giving Harry one of the dazzling smiles that always made his heart thump a couple of times. "Mmm…" she said as she took her first sip.

Daphne put her cup back on the saucer and picked up the biscotti. Harry leaned back in his chair and waited until Daphne had dipped the biscotti in her coffee and bitten off the end.

"You look exceptionally bright and shining this morning, Daphne," he said. "I don't know what it is, or how to describe it. You shine. I guess that is it. You shine."

Daphne gave him a sly look, but didn't say anything. She dipped the biscotti one more time, looking over at Harry as she bit into it and chewed.

"You took me last night," she said, apparently in explanation. "Claimed and possessed me."

Harry couldn't help it if his mouth turned up at the corners and his eyes crinkled just a little.

"Well," he said, "If I did, you gave as good as you got. Maybe more."

"Mmm…" said Daphne, "I felt magical, my lord. That was your doing. Top to toes, I felt it. I couldn't have said this a day ago. When I got out of bed yesterday, I thought I was the happiest witch in Britain. My husband gave me my dream home, and my dream family. I had a great job, doing good for our people, one that confers respect. I had no money worries or material wants. Senior witches know I am at home on Wednesday afternoons and put on their better robes to call on me. You've just gone and changed my world, again."

"You've lost me, Lady Daphne," Harry said.

Daphne reached across between them and took Harry's fingers in her two hands.

"All of my life, I've known I was a witch, and a noble one," Daphne said. "Merlin knows, circumstances decreed every little witch and wizard growing up in a magical household back then knew those details, from birth onwards. Knowing your blood status could be a matter of life or death. I've been Lady Potter-Black since our marriage, too, something I appreciate immensely. But when you put that Black ring on my finger last night and claimed me as your consort, Harry Potter, you worked magic that changed something inside me. Did you feel it when you put yours on?"

Harry looked around, checking for lurking children or open windows.

"A little," Harry said, "But when we drank our toast, and I kissed you in there in the lady's study, with Walburga looking down…"

"Something?"

"Yes," Harry said. "Lots more than some. Your eyes, the expression on your face. Some kind of transaction between us. I didn't know what it was, but it felt good. I couldn't breathe, literally. The way you looked at me right then, I would have killed and eaten a kraken for you. You're so right. I did go upstairs and claim Lady Potter last night, didn't I? And Lady Potter claimed me, too, didn't she?"

By this time Harry's voice had become a low growl. Feral. Hungry. He'd had a bit, but wasn't sated. He wanted more, soon, that was clear. Daphne leaned over the table, worked her hands into his, her fingertips curled around to find and caress the Potter and Black signets. She didn't need to answer his question. Talk was redundant, no, completely inappropriate just then. Daphne traveled back to the moment when Harry slid her ring home, gasped again, and finally looked away.

"Let me see to your breakfast, my lord," Daphne whispered, getting up.

She came back, followed by Periwinkle who held a large tray with a plate of scrambled eggs, sliced tomatoes and two toasted muffins. Daphne put the plate in front of Harry but didn't sit.

"Pumpkin juice and silverware for Lord Harry, please," Daphne said. The elf sent the tray somewhere and produced the juice and utensils, which Daphne took from her and arranged in front of Harry.

"That will be all for now, Periwinkle" Daphne said, "Thank-you."

Harry looked at Daphne standing there.

"Lady Daphne, may I invite you to sit down and join me?" Harry said.

"If that is your wish," Daphne said.

"It is," said Harry, "My fondest wish at the moment."

"You'll need something..," he went on.

"When you're finished will be fine," Daphne said. She kept her hands to herself so Harry could eat.

"No," Harry said, "Periwinkle!"

"Please bring us a second plate, Periwinkle," said Harry, which Periwinkle did. Harry put his muffins on the plate and put it in front of Daphne, then he added two forks-full of his scrambled eggs and the thinnest slice of tomato. The second half of the muffin went on top. Periwinkle could have done it with a snap of her fingers, but Harry was making an offering. One doesn't delegate that.

"I'm sorry, Lady Daphne, if you won't eat, please worry that a little so I'm not a complete cad," said Harry.

"Of course, thank-you," Daphne said, and picked up her breakfast sandwich.

They continued that way for a while. Harry pondered Daphne. Daphne paid obeisance to his lordship at every opportunity. Harry wondered how long his medieval witch consort would find their new magical experience fun. He decided, in the end, to conduct a little experiment.

"Rounds this morning?" Harry asked.

"Yes, a short one, or it should be," Daphne began. "Several patients were discharged yesterday, and a few more spend Saturdays and Sundays with family. If we don't have new admissions to evaluate I'll be home by twelve or one."

"Is my healer wife back?" Harry asked without any prologue. Daphne gave a little start.

"Your healer wife did not go anywhere, my lord," Daphne assured him, "Nor will she. You merely acquired an ancient and most noble witch consort to warm you through the cold winter nights in your keep. Rest assured, your witch consort finds her condition in life most agreeable, or she wouldn't put up with it.

"Destiny is un-scientific," Daphne went on. "But so is magic. I have just been tossed into a deep, deep pool of magic I knew nothing about, so let a witch explore a little. My lord has been pleased with the events of the last twelve hours?"

"Oh, yes," Harry said. "You have made the events of the last twelve hours delightful. Sweet. Ambrosial."

"Then perhaps my lord would like to refrain from making the magic go away by looking too closely," Daphne said. "Perhaps my lord would prefer to relax and enjoy such delights as his consort can provide him, if I am not being too bold."

"Perhaps it was our destiny to find our way here, together," Daphne summed up, making conditional what was really a statement of fact, even considering destiny is un-scientific.

Both of them stopped talking and smiled while Harry put his left hand over Daphne's right, this time his fingers finding her Black signet and rubbing it. Conditions being favorable, the state of affairs went on, all silence. It might have gone on like that through the morning, had Iolanthe not stepped out on the patio with a ready comment.

"That's some hot stuff, parents," she said, "We're still impressionable teens."

"I know, darling, and we don't want to warp your psyches by letting you see adults doing anything that is subject to misinterpretation, do we Mr. Potter?" Daphne asked.

"Of course not, Healer Daphne," Harry said. "They're brave, upright young Slytherin witches, and we want them to stay that way. Breakfast?"

"Sure," Iolanthe said. "I'm for bacon, eggs, fresh tomatoes and toast. Lissette?"

"Yes, please," Lissette said, at very low volume.

"Good," Harry said, standing up. "Just give me a little room…"

He drew his wand and began putting tables together and moving chairs, soon delivering an arrangement that would accommodate the entire household, if the entire household eventually straggled out to the patio for breakfast.

"Periwinkle?" Harry called, putting in an order for a platter of scrambled eggs, toast, sliced tomatoes, and two place settings.

"You'll have to do your own beverages," he said. "I'm off to change."

Iolanthe let Harry get all the way to the first interior door before giving her mother a look.

"Any lessons I need to learn for married life?" she muttered.

Daphne tried desperately to maintain a dignified face, suitable for a noble witch of her rank. For one brief moment she thought, 'Now I know what Astoria did to Mother,' before erupting.

"No," she managed, finally. She made herself calm down enough to restore normal breathing.

"No, dear, it was just two people who really needed each other, got very lucky and recognize it," Daphne said. "Every now and then we take the opportunity to say so. And thank-you."

"That's a lesson," Lissette piped up. Iolanthe and Daphne took note.

"Yep, good one," Iolanthe said.

"I'll go in this morning, but I should be back by noon," Daphne said. "Why don't you come up with something for us to do? A swim at your grandparents' or a local ramble. You can show me all your recent discoveries. Lord Harry ought to be reasonably malleable on that point."

"That's a great responsibility, Mother," said Iolanthe.

"You can handle it," Daphne said, "Or I wouldn't give it to you."

With that she rose and followed Harry inside to change into her St. Mungo's attire.

Harry went by the coffee shop and ordered his usual cup, paid and continued to his office. The analysts had pulled together a fairly substantial morning reading file, for a Sunday. Harry went through, looking for threads and connections, anything that would indicate adversaries of the ministry were arranging plots and subversion for their own purposes, or simply to raise hell and sow frustration among the magical populace. On first reading the reports looked like any other Sunday morning file. Harry's counterparts around the world, muggle as well as magical, did much the same thing he did on Sundays. They read the long deep-thinking reports the analysts had finished up too late on Friday to make it into the Saturday files, along with the stew of mixed tidbits from Saturday the field reporters thought worthy of sending up before Monday.

Harry tried to be careful on Sundays. Most of what he read would be received knowledge dressed in the new clothes of professional language and the comforting drone of familiarity. Some would be old news items combined in an original way to pose as fresh insights gained through close study of a recent phenomenon.

During the transition from the Slughorn stewardship to that of Harry Potter, Horace Slughorn had cautioned against the seduction of the familiar.

"That little annoyance that you get used to, that never seems to blow up into anything harmful, Harry, that is the one that can really hurt you, the minister, and the ministry as a whole," Slughorn had said. "It has happened to me. No one is immune. You are your own chief analyst, no matter what the organization chart says."

Wizard researchers had known and used a technique for centuries to help them master piles of un-catalogued files and archives. Harry had learned of it in auror training, although he hadn't paid it a lot of attention at the time. Iolanthe might have called it 'Barely more than a parlor trick,' but Harry had found with practice that he could sift and collate to save time, and often got a fresh perspective from the results of the little spell.

The idea was to focus on a subject or person and let magic bring the most promising documents to the top. Harry held his wand over the closed file folder and thought of Jacques Lafleur, Michel Lestrange and the Lafleur Movement.

Harry didn't know exactly what lay behind the technique. It had to be some combination of silent magical casting, wand work and the opening up of the subconscious to mix and fuse the techniques just at the borderlands of cognition. Harry was careful not to look too closely, lest he make the magic go away.

When he felt he had reached the limits of his ability to manipulate the documentation, Harry laid his wand down on his desk, took two deep breaths and opened the folder.

The first sheet up was a one-page report on a Lafleur deputy who was seen walking through the lobby of Gringotts' branch in the Isle of Man, went to ground for a couple of hours in a private dining room at a magical pub, emerged and held a Lafleur seminar at a local wizard's estate before returning to London by port key. The second was an analysis of an odd construction project. Someone was securing permits to build a resort hotel on a tiny magical isle in the Channel that was inside a perpetual fog bank. Harry recognized the name. He wondered who would want to take a trip to a fog bank, since that would be what a stay at the hotel would amount to. The third report described a visit to a magical micro-state located on a cove between Monte Carlo and France, where there isn't supposed to be a micro-state at all, by a person who might have fit the description of Jacques Lafleur. It wasn't possible to determine if it had been Lafleur or not, as whenever the person was under observation they had the hood of their cape pulled up.

None of it added up for Harry. He checked the time. There was still an hour, or a little more, before he would be expected at home. Harry decided to take a walk to the technical section, perhaps his favorite place in his department. He waved his wand in front of the door and listened for the lock to click. He had no idea who would be in on Sunday, although the rule was there should be a qualified specialist there, so they didn't have to go searching for one in the event of an emergency or an immediate request from the minister. The specialists were all qualified in three or more disciplines. With a little luck, today's would be able to organize a port key.

At four minutes before eleven, Sunday morning, Harry traveled by port key to the tiny Channel Isle of St. Guinefort, a magical spot, unplottable, and very hard for anyone, muggle or wizard, to stumble upon. A peculiar combination of physics, meteorology and whimsy generates a great deal of humidity while cooling the air over the island just enough to ensure steady replenishment of the hemisphere of fog around and over the place. Wizarding meteorologists had spent nearly three centuries debating whether magic is or was involved in installing the perpetual fog. Results were inconclusive.

Oddly enough, once on St. Guinefort, Harry found the day to be sunny and quite temperate. He wasn't hot, but he wasn't cold, either. There is only one settlement on St. Guinefort, and for convenience' sake it is named St. Guinefort.

It didn't take very long to find the proposed site of the tourist hotel. The north side of the isle is a long, curving strand. The far western end, where Harry's port key landed him, is boulders. Walking eastward, the boulders are succeeded by cobbles, then tiny pea-gravel, and finally golden sand. The sandy end is around one hundred meters wide throughout its length, give or take ten meters. A fence of the type muggles call chain-link marked off a large parcel. It was continuous, more or less rectangular, and sported a very disagreeable security shack that sat next to a sagging gate. A sign announced Harry was looking at the future site of Le Henge St. Guinefort, which struck Harry as the most reprehensible use of _Franglais_ , of those he'd personally heard or read. That still left lots of room, he acknowledged to himself.

Le Henge, according to the sign, would be a friendly resort for the contemporary magical family. The architect's rendering was peeling and a bit faded, but it showed two upright megaliths framing the beach and two beautiful women, presumably witches, judging by the wands worn like sabers under the strings of their bikini bottoms. Harry wondered where they planned to get the megaliths. Who required Neolithic ruins for a trip to the beach, for that matter?

"Can I help you?"

A rather thickset man in a shirt with SECURITY stitched on a shoulder patch stepped out of the shack and called out to Harry. He wasn't exactly belligerent, for a security guard.

"Doing my miles for the day," Harry said. "The sign…"

He waved his hand at the monoliths and bikinis.

"It could use a little touch-up," Harry said, "Just an observation, of course. It had to have been nice when it was new."

The security guard looked at him. Strictly speaking, the function of security was to confront and remove trespassers, but Harry was on the public roadway, so he wasn't trespassing. Nor was he nosing around, even if he was making a little conversation. Mr. SECURITY judged him a non-threatening wizard and relaxed.

"I expect so," said the guard, "The developer wants to do things right."

"Well, sure," Harry agreed, "It's their reputation, for good or bad. I expect they want to be seen as a solid business that delivers quality products."

"And they take care of their people," the man said, "Never miss a payday, and they have good benefits."

"Sounds great," Harry said, "You're a fortunate man. The…St. Guinefort Partners, LLC…of Douglas…Isle of Man…" Harry read the information painted near the foot of the sign board. He said it aloud as an aid to memory, trying to project a solitary hiker too habituated to his own company.

"Anyway, the St. Guinefort Partners is very lucky to have you, Mr…"

"Lestrange," said the guard.

"Got to keep moving or I'll never get the miles," Harry said. "Very nice talking to you."

He gave a wave and took off eastward, disappearing behind a little grass-covered dune barely in time to be obscured from the view of the security shack when the port key returned him to the roof of his building.

"What the hell?" Harry thought to himself as he made his way to the technical office to turn in the port key, a bamboo staff about five feet long. It made a fine companion on a hike, something to file away for future reference. Who would suspect a wizard who liked exercise was doing anything besides exercising? Look at the stick! The further advantage being as long as you were hiking with your stick, you never had to worry about getting back for the activation of the port key.

Harry passed by his own office to check for messages. He removed a little notebook he carried and wrote a few notes.

"St. Guinefort. Development. Partners. Douglas," he wrote, then, "LESTRANGE? Fence?"

Harry got back to his study at Potter Manor and went looking for Daphne, or, failing finding Daphne, anyone among Tracey, Iolanthe, James, Lissette, Zelda, Millicent or Ginny who might be around who could tell him what had been going on while he was out.

He found Tracey and Zelda in the room at the rear of the house that led to the patio. The weather was exquisite, with a little offshore breeze coming in from the Channel. Tracey had all the doors open. The room was out of the sun and caught the breeze.

"Whomever designed this house and oriented it just this way is a genius," he thought.

Tracey and Zelda didn't seem to be doing anything in particular. They had a duffel packed and sitting on the floor between them. Harry took a guess.

"Swim? Greengrass Manor?"

"Uh-huh," Zelda said, "Just as soon as Daphne gets back. Are you going?"

"If I'm invited," Harry said. "I need to get my things. There's no rush as long as we're waiting for Daphne, because she'll need to get a few things, too. Tell you what…I need to visit an owl, then I'll put my stuff in a bag and be ready when Daphne gets here."

By the time Harry sent off a note by owl and had swimming trunks in his bag, his shoes swapped out for sandals, and his floppy straw hat down from its shelf, Daphne was back. She flew through her own packing and change-out from her St. Mungo's garb, conscripted Iolanthe and Lissette for infant assistance, and herded everyone to the fireplace in the small library/gallery that still refused to choose what it wanted its function to be.

Iolanthe was exerting extreme self-discipline from the moment she exited the Greengrass Manor library's fireplace, because her usual custom continued to be to shout, "Grandmother!" at the top of her lungs as she made her way to Kendra. That wouldn't do, though, with Evans snoozing in his little sling just inches from Iolanthe's mouth.

The swimmers converged on the sunny room whence they could see Kendra and Fabio in the gazebo, finishing up lunch, by the looks of things.

"Lunch?" asked Fabio.

"Swim?" guessed Kendra.

"Swim, then lunch?" Daphne tried, knowing the answer. She led the parade to give Kendra a kiss, followed by a hug for Fabio. "Coming with?"

"Why not?" said Fabio, getting up.

The posse split up, everyone making for a bedroom to change.

Everyone jumped in from the cabana except Harry and Daphne, who had Evans and Davis and their swim bubbles to distract them. Lissette took off to swim around under water, shooting up and getting air from time to time as a way of self-reporting on her welfare. Harry went over the results of his research as he pushed the twins back and forth between Daphne and himself.

"Ever heard of St. Guinefort?" Harry asked. "The island, not the saint."

"The island is magical, out in the Channel, and perpetually surrounded by fog," Daphne said. "That St. Guinefort?"

"The very one," Harry said.

"Any particular reason St. Guinefort has come to your attention?" asked Daphne.

"It's peripheral to the Lafleur situation," Harry said. "Might not be anything."

Harry let it drop and pushed Davis towards Daphne. Davis' bubble bumped Evans' and they both giggled and waved their arms.

"Such good swimming!" Daphne assured them both.

James arrived. He played a game with the twins that involved grasping an ankle in each hand underwater and turning in circles so the infants became a kind of aquatic carousel. The construct possessed huge amusement value for the not-quite-six-month-old wizarding mind, judging by the ensuing baby whoops.

"So?" Daphne demanded, Harry having left her hanging.

Fabio swam up.

"I was just telling Daphne I've learned about a magical Channel Isle, a place I'd never heard of," Harry said. "St. Guinefort."

"Sure," Fabio said, "The stuff of legend. In a perpetual fog bank. It figures in muggle sailors' sea stories, like Fiddler's Green and Davy Jones' locker. I've always thought it would be rewarding to do some reading on the enchantments, if I didn't have anything else to do. I heard if the fog gets confused with normal foul weather and a ship's course will run it aground, St. Guinefort moves out of the way just enough to avert disaster."

"That would be some powerful magic," Harry said.

"Not to mention exquisitely beautiful," Daphne added. "James! Are you spinning them around too fast?"

Evans and Davis didn't seem to think it was too fast, but James slowed down in the interest of harmony.

"Someone is pulling permits to build a beach hotel," Harry said. "There may be Lafleur organization involvement. Nothing solid."

"Is St. Guinefort British or French?" Daphne asked. "The island, not the saint."

"I'm not sure," Harry said. "I think we ought to check with ministry protocol and find out for sure. That could turn out to be significant."

"It could," Fabio said. "If it is British, and magical, civil administration would fall under the ministry. If it is French, _oo-la-la, le bureaucratie_. Timelines for response extend further with each passing mile you travel south. Take your lunch. And a toothbrush. I assume you'd like to see the plans?"

"Plans," said Harry. "Why plans?"

"Oh," Fabio said, "I thought you wanted to learn all about the hotel. The builder has to submit plans as part of the permitting process. For approval. The bigger the project, the more plans. Structure, electrical, water, waste disposal. Those are usually enough for a house. For a resort hotel there would be detailed plans for the foundation and the civil engineering studies. The natural environment is a factor. If something is going to be mitigated via magic, let's say slope, for instance, then the magical environment has to be addressed. It can get complicated. You could get a lot of information from those plans."

"Sounds like it," Harry said. He started making a mental To Do List for several members of his close staff.

Everyone did get their fill of swimming, eventually. Daphne and Tracey called their broods together and decreed it time for drying-off and migrating to the gazebo for lunch.

Light summer fare led to some stretching out on chaises in shady spots. Harry counted five confirmed naps and one suspected. Fabio had gone to his study, which was where Harry found him.

"Do you know anything about magical Manx business?" Harry asked.

"Well, Man, as I'm sure you already know, has some interesting attributes," Fabio said. "The incorporation rules allow for a lot less transparency. Some kinds of transactions are completely free of tax. Magical banking takes advantage of some nooks and crannies that don't exist here. Any particular reason you ask?"

"Not yet," Harry said. "The magical resort hotel developers are St. Guinefort Partners, LLC, of Douglas."

"You see that a lot," said Fabio. "If a wizard or group of wizards wanted to put together a deal and keep their names out of the paperwork, the partnership papers are drawn up and everything is in conformance with Manx magical law, which lets the actual principals and investors act through nominees. The investors can be partnerships or investment funds as well. There are reasons to do it that way, but the effect is the authorities won't be able to determine who is really behind a project without spending months, even years, on the investigation. Most of the time it's not worth it, which is well-known to the owners of the funds."

Harry leaned back, removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Any particular reason someone would form a partnership and acquire some land, then sit on it for years and years?" Harry asked, thinking of the weathered sign by the security shack.

"The original investor or investors could get the project to a certain point and put it up for sale at a profit. That is pretty common. There are companies that look for opportunities, acquire a site, get a design approved then sell the whole thing to the people who do construction and commissioning," Fabio said.

"Then they sell it to someone else who runs it?" Harry asked.

"Sometimes, yes," Fabio said. "Some people like the initial part, the research, testing the business plan, buying the property, designing the project. They might not have an affinity for construction, so they sell at a certain point. They've added their value and want to get out and do it again."

"This is all much more common among muggles, of course," Fabio said. "The wizarding population is quite small by comparison, so we know more about the other wizard's business. Anonymity is a lot more difficult for us, for that reason alone. Myself, I enjoy the relationships I've built with the suppliers so I don't go looking for ways to obscure myself."

"None of what you've just described has ever come to my attention," Harry said. "I guess I always saw magical business as an extension of Flourish and Blotts, or Fortescue's, or your commodities trade."

"Harry, there's no reason why it should come to your attention," Fabio said. "Look, when you were an auror, did you go out and patrol for tax evaders or embezzlers? No, because you were trained to look for different categories of crime. Who did the financial investigations?"

Harry felt like he'd been punched, square to his sternum.

"There's another section," said Harry, "Bart worked there, before he was a prosecutor. Oh, my."

"Mmm-hmm," Fabio said, smiling. "He probably learned more than he'd anticipated from that assignment, and from his work in the prosecutorial service as well, I'd guess. Then, at some point, he decided to put a little aside for his and the missus' old age, or he saw he could make himself useful to the charismatic leader he'd begun to follow. Now he's in deep."

Harry leaned back and stretched his legs out before him. He always wondered if Fabio's leather couches were enchanted. His seemed to sense his agitation. It waited for him to get stretched to full length then it wrapped him in an embrace, warm, but not too warm, just firm enough. It must have been a great position for thinking because Harry saw several next steps all at once.

"We need to vet the financial crimes unit," he said, beginning to think out loud. "We need to find at least one incorruptible investigator. We'll have to take the files. I can keep them safe. Anyone from Bart's era gets reassigned.

"Oh, crap, Fabio," Harry said, remembering his position and responsibilities. "I'm so sorry. You didn't hear any of that."

"No, I didn't," Fabio said. "All I know is what I read in the Daily Prophet, Harry. Honestly."

"Fabio," Harry began, "I don't know how I worked around this for so long without exposure to the grimy trade you just described, but I am in your debt. My reading for the next forty-eight hours is set. Now, once again, this situation has the potential to get out of hand. My connection with the Greengrass family is well-known, so anyone blaming me for spoiling the party could, conceivably…"

"We know, Harry," said Fabio. "Kendra and I both know the drill. We'll look out for ourselves. Go ahead and do your job."

Harry went back to the patio and the chaises in the shady spots. No one popped up and asked, "Ready?"

There weren't any chaises left, leaving Harry stumped, standing still trying to come up with a place he'd like to go or something he'd like to do while he waited for the party of travelers to finish their naps. He saw a little movement in his peripheral vision and looked just in time to see Iolanthe finish conjuring him a chaise.

"Go ahead," she said. "It won't fall down. Auntie showed it to me."

Harry did try the chaise, and it didn't fall down. He stretched out, but he couldn't sleep. He did make good use of the time, though, as it seemed the chaise was just the place for thinking through his problem.


	47. Chapter 47

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Forty-Seven

Not Exactly Misrepresentation, Just Subtle

"Where are we going?" Daphne asked as she and Harry exited the elevator penthouse on the roof of St. Mungo's.

Harry had made a date for lunch with his wife at breakfast that morning. He was following his resolution to not only tell Daphne, but show her, much more than he had been, how much he loved and appreciated her, especially for the support she gave him every day.

"I could not do any of this, without you," he'd said, his right hand underneath Daphne's and his left on top, twiddling Daphne's Black signet between his thumb and forefinger. "I want to show you. Talk really is cheap, without action."

"Of course I'll make time for lunch," Daphne had said, smiling. Melting.

Hogwarts School was in Scotland, so it stood to reason it would have a tartan. Harry hadn't had an idyllic schoolboy experience at Hogwarts, but he took pride in some of the accomplishments from his schooldays. He liked to wear an alumni pin. The pin itself was a very beautiful cloissone' thistle. It was worn on a gentleman's lapel atop a rosette folded from a swatch of the Hogwarts tartan.

On Monday morning, Harry took his alumni pin to the technical section and requested it be made a port key, to take him and one other person from London to the town of St. Guinefort, with a return by the same route one hour and fifteen minutes later. Harry had his assistant visit the map section where he picked up a slim, bilingual visitors' guide to St. Guinefort, which had not only a street map but a list of restaurants, bars, apothecaries and assorted businesses that the day tripper might need.

"St. Guinefort," Harry said. "I have to see the town. Well, on our side we'd call it a village, but it's still the capital, since it's the only settlement. We'd better at least grant it town status. Hold on!"

Harry reached around Daphne's waist with his right arm while watching the second hand of his watch tick down to activation. The port key went live and they landed on a patch of well-trampled grass on the edge of the town of St. Guinefort, which Harry took to indicate that was the usual port of entry for visitors and/or commuters. His previous trip to the island had been concerned with the resort development that was somehow connected to the Lafleur movement. He'd thought he would know how that worked by now, but the researchers had yet to produce a report.

"Where are we?" Daphne asked as she unwrapped herself from Harry's arm.

"This is the town side," Harry said. "There's a café on the square that is known from…ah…Point A to Point B, and I've been dying to try it. Couldn't enjoy it alone, so…"

That was the moment Daphne caught on.

"Harry Potter, you diabolical, manipulative, sum total of unworthy adjectives," Daphne said as they struck out on the track to town. "You're not taking me to lunch in St. Guinefort, you're using me as cover for a visit to St. Guinefort. You're working, aren't you? Admit it!"

"Well, primarily, I'm taking my wife out for lunch," Harry said, "But, I suppose, yes, of course, one never knows when a useful observation will fall into one's lap. It happens. Be a shame to waste an opportunity."

"You, Harry Potter, are completely compromised, morally," Daphne said. "Ethically, you do not have a leg to stand on. What would Kingsley say if he knew you were taking me along on your little reconnaissance?"

"Absolutely nothing," Harry said, letting just a little hurt and discomfort infuse his tone. "You required me to promise to use you, when the time comes. You have poked your witch nose into operational matters before despite my sincere pleas to the contrary. You've done well, don't get me wrong. Today, we're going to have lunch. We'll sit across from one another, someplace with a view of the comings and goings. You'll scan your way, and I'll scan mine. We won't talk about anything in particular. We're a couple over from London checking out the possibilities for a family vacation, possibly this coming August. We've heard it is nearly too late to book rooms, but we thought we'd check anyway. Are you having fun yet?"

"…" Daphne tried, but got no further.

"Exactly," Harry said, the overtones in his voice constructed entirely of self-congratulation. "Smell the Channel?"

The shop windows in St. Guinefort had signs with French and British flags indicating the languages spoken within. Some had other languages as well. One shop had modified its language icons, with the French tricolor paired with the black, red and white of Trinidad and Tobago.

"Oh, I like that," Harry said as they passed the shop. Someone inside was playing a Soca tune, something about an Obeah lady, a spell cast by wining, a Conga line, and some other things Harry didn't catch.

"What's wining?" Harry asked.

"Harry, I…" Daphne said. "Wining, it must be something like wining and dining."

"Oh, well, you're an Obeah lady, I thought it must be standard in the profession," said Harry.

He pulled out his guide and turned to the map page.

"Let's see," he said. "It doesn't look like we can go wrong. There is a restaurant up ahead, so why don't we take a look and see if we want to give it a try, and if not, we'll do these blocks here? There's bound to be something."

"It's your party, you diabolical, manipulative…"

"That's a yes, then," Harry said, "And here we are! Look—le Coq Blanc. My gosh, Daphne, how French is that? Sidewalk tables! How is it we never knew about any of this before? You'd think we'd have all come here for an end-of-term blowout, isn't that what the students are supposed to do these days?"

"There were other things going on, if you remember," Daphne said. "How much _do_ you remember, anyway?"

"Not that much," Harry admitted, pulling out a chair for Daphne while he looked around for a waiter. "I guess that means we had to have been having a really good time."

"Sir and Madame," the waiter said as he rushed over to push Daphne's chair up to the table. "Welcome. We have two specials today, chicken and fish, both are very good. If you will be having either I'd suggest a glass of white wine. You cannot get this particular wine anywhere but le Coq Blanc. If it is not the best you have tasted you will not be charged."

Harry ordered one chicken and one fish special and two glasses of the white.

"Is Sir wearing a memento from Hogwarts School?" asked the waiter as he closed his pad.

"Yes, thank-you for asking. Madame and I are alumni," Harry said.

"Very good sir, welcome to St. Guinefort," said the waiter. "Enjoy your visit."

The waiter returned inside.

"Ever been here?" Harry asked. "I wasn't really clear before. You knew a bit about it."

"Not unless I passed through with Father, when we were doing five countries in six hours, or something like that," Daphne said. "Don't ask me where I got the bits I knew. Read them somewhere, I suppose. What have you got so far?"

"The whole island is magical. There are a lot of legends. Moving out of the way of a ship-to-island collision is a legend," Harry began. "That is not to say it's not true. Geopolitically St. Guinefort is something of a puzzle, as are lots of other island statelets. Neither Britain nor France claim it, because the muggle governments are oblivious to its existence. The magical administration is downright quaint. There is no advantage for either the British Ministry for Magic nor its French counterpart to claim the place. It has no strategic value and tax revenues would be less than the cost of administration, so the two ministries officially recognize the other's sovereignty. In effect, they can't give it away.

"St. Guinefort the island doesn't make any more sense geologically than it does geopolitically," Harry went on. "The rock is out of place, not related to the bedrock on either side of the Channel and not like the other isles. It could have been put here, presumably through the use of magic, but no one has come up with a plausible theory for who did it, what kind of magic would have been used, how long ago, and so on. If you hypothesized Captain Merlin and his Magical Tugboat, you would be as close as anyone has gotten. Who's to say it couldn't have been? Besides, it's completely irrelevant to the discussion because only magical types come here and they expect a certain amount of ambiguity in daily life."

The waiter arrived with two of the lunch specials, one fish and one chicken, and two glasses of the white.

"No way I can finish this," Daphne said, appraising the generous glass. "I'll go back, reassure them all is well and I'll see them tomorrow, and twenty minutes later the young Toms will be taking nourishment."

"Don't count on me," Harry said, "I can't go back to work in a polluted condition. Maybe they'll pour our leftovers into a bottle for us to take home. Pardon my inattention as a father, but when did the twins cease being kittens? They're Toms already?"

"Certainly," Daphne sniffed. "Anything less would be disrespectful. They're fine young Tom cats."

Harry nodded, glad he'd been brought up to date.

A large man arrived next to their table, rotund and bald, wearing black trousers, a black vest and a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves.

"You are both from Hogwarts?" he said, without any introductions.

"We are," said Daphne, "Are you?"

"No, my magical education was in France, but my daughter was accepted at Hogwarts," said the man. "She loved it. Forgive me, my name is Henri."

He pronounced his name as 'ahn-WREE.'

"Harry."

"Daphne."

Everyone shook hands. Harry and Daphne hadn't been at Hogwarts with Henri's daughter, but they certainly would have known some of the same people. Henri, it turned out, was the third generation proprietor of le Coq Blanc.

"Monsieur Henri, we're looking for someplace different, and quiet, for a little vacation for the family," Harry said. "We're just here for lunch today, and some information about accommodations, availability, that sort of thing. Oh, my manners, forgive me, would you like to sit down?"

 _Le restauranteur M. Henri_ turned out to be the source of some of the best research Harry and Daphne did on their visit. There wasn't anything in St. Guinefort in the way of a major hotel, but one or two places could accommodate the numbers the Potters had in mind, although they might have to take the entire establishment to get enough rooms. The long-planned tourist hotel on the beach had been in the works for at least ten years, possibly more. Monsieur Henri was not certain any actual work had taken place after the initial surveying and installation of a fence. In Monsieur Henri's opinion, the beaches on the southern, France-facing side were far superior, but that was a matter of individual taste and preference.

Nearly everyone on the island spoke French and English. The islanders were determined, almost universally, to resist the development of a _patois_ , and most people raised their children to strictly segregate their French and English vocabularies. There were a few exceptions. _Monsieur le maire_ made it a point in his annual address to stress the respect for the distinct languages and cultures of both countries. This was coincidentally highly advantageous for the visitor-friendly commercial sector of St. Guinefort, since both British and French wizardry were noted for their snobbery in such matters.

"So true," Daphne agreed to some point Henri made. She and Harry had traded making little commentaries and responses throughout Monsieur Henri's briefing, so each got plenty to eat. They did discipline themselves on the wine consumption, pleading the need to return to work in a reasonable condition. Harry had the presence of mind to ask if Monsieur Henri would consider selling a bottle of the white for them to take back to London, which led to some more interesting but not very valuable information on the winemaking history of Monsieur Henri's family, the vineyard that grew the grapes that went into the wine, and so on.

Taking their leave, Harry and Daphne paid, thanked Monsieur Henri for the interesting conversation, and set out for the patch of trampled grass on the edge of town.

"Fascinating," Harry said. "Did you detect any reference, no matter how indirect, to anything connected to the Lafleur movement, Jacques Lafleur and/or Michel Lestrange?"

"No," said Daphne, "But was it conspicuous by its absence, or truly absent from St. Guinefort?"

"That will take a little more research," Harry said, looking at his watch. "Almost there. I'll go on inside with you then take the floo to the ministry, I think. Ten or fifteen minutes there might be a good investment of my time. Then around three hours at my place, I think, then home. How's that sound?"

It sounded okay.

Harry asked for, and got, ten minutes with Ralph Mann. He went over his concerns with the financial crimes function, asking Ralph to identify one investigator whose integrity was unquestioned, to be detailed to Harry's department for sixty to ninety days.

When he got back to his own office Harry sat down and made some notes. He'd learned a few things, and he had new questions that needed answering. Harry had no idea when Ralph's detailee would arrive, so he called in the heads of the analytical and field offices and outlined the kind of work needed to get some insight into the St. Guinefort Partners and their hotel project that never seemed to go anywhere.

By four p.m. Harry was ready to go home. He even remembered to take their bottle of Monsieur Henri's wine.

Harry floo'd to his study at Potter Manor and went out seeking human contact. He found the children on the patio, under Tracey's supervision. Iolanthe was on the settee holding Davis and James had Evans. Both of the babies were busy draining bottles. Zelda was behind a quidditch magazine and Lissette was reading a book.

"Periwinkle?" Harry called.

Periwinkle arrived with a 'pop' and Harry handed her the bottle of wine they'd picked up.

"This would be perfect whenever we have chicken, or fish, or a great big bowl of fresh greens and tomatoes and a baguette," Harry said. "Just a little chill, not too cold. Cool."

Periwinkle might have taken mild offense at Harry's pedantic instructions for chilling white wine, but if she did, she didn't let on. Harry took the unoccupied half of the settee, lay back and stretched out his legs.

"How was the lunch date?" Tracey asked.

"Very pleasant," Harry said. "We'll have to go back and take you. Have you ever been there? I managed to live this long without every hearing of St. Guinefort. According to the official brochure there is a big carnival on their Saint's Day, the twenty-second of August."

"I'd heard of it but I've never been," Tracey said. "How did you go?"

"Port key," Harry said. "I suppose we could apparate, now that we have a location to go back to."

Davis and Evans finished their bottles almost together. Both seemed inclined to doze off rather than join the party. Harry looked down the slope towards the greenhouse and saw Teddy Lupin coming up the path through the gardens.

Greetings went around: "Hullo, Teddy…" "Hullo—hullo—hullo…"

"Something to eat or drink, Teddy?" Harry asked.

"No thank-you," Teddy said, "Just wanted to talk to James."

James got up and handed Evans to Harry, then went inside with Teddy.

"Wonder what?" Harry said.

"Plant based," Tracey declared.

"Organic and magical," Iolanthe added.

Evans woke up and started fiddling with a little magical ring toy he had been holding while he ate. The rings were charmed to link and unlink, so they kept little wizards busy for long periods, taking the rings apart and putting them back together. Davis had never really drifted off after finishing his bottle, so he heard the rings clinking and asked to sit up to watch.

Before long, though, watching wasn't good enough and Davis reached out and took the toy from Evans, getting all but one ring, the one in Evans' hand. Evans wasn't having it. His hand shot out and before Davis could pull it away Evans jerked the rings back, reattaching his prize to the original ring, now complete except for the single ring still in Davis' fist.

"Oh," said Harry. "How interesting."

Harry took the end of the little chain, the one furthest from Evans' tiny fist, and pulled. The chain came away, except for the one link Evans still held. Davis laughed and waved his arms up and down. Harry held the chain out to Davis, who touched his remaining link to the group and pulled, getting everything but the link between Harry's finger and thumb. Evans decreed it was time for him to have a turn.

"Harry Potter," said Tracey, "I'd say you've reverted."

"You may be correct," Harry said, "But reverted to what? That's the question, isn't it?"

The next morning, Harry convened another meeting with his head analyst and the head of field operations.

"We will need to know some details about that magical resort in St. Guinefort," he said. "See what we can find out about the owners of that partnership. It would be useful to know who organized the partnership, who the partners are, where the financing came from, and if it has been the same principals all along or if the original partners sold it. See if we can find out who owns the land inside the fence. Names, not shell companies. Where did the money come from? How much did they pay? Has the land been transferred since the partnership was organized?

"Then there's that magical principality on the Mediterranean," Harry continued. "Who is the sovereign? If it is a principality there must be a prince. Does Lafleur hang out there? What connection does he have?"

The deputies nodded and left. This was their moment. Their meat and potatoes. They really liked their jobs.

Harry took a few minutes to think about developments. He was certain the hotel on St. Guinefort had a Lafleur connection. The main reason was intuitive. He'd used his sorting technique on a reading file and the reports on the Lafleur deputy's activities on the Isle of Man, the holiday hotel, and the tiny magical principality between Monte Carlo and France had presented themselves. There had to be a connection, but what would it take to prove it?

Harry could have been said to harbor an obsession as he thought about the complex of issues that had emerged since Iolanthe had become acquainted with Lissette Lestrange. All of the individual situations seemed to lead back to Jacques Lafleur. The threads were tangled; they needed untangling. Harry tried to pay attention in afternoon meetings but didn't have a great deal of success. The Lafleur puzzle was far too compelling. Ordinary departmental housekeeping couldn't compete.

Teddy and James worked late on the evening of July 30. They were much too cheery when they got to Potter Manor about an hour before sundown. Harry was sitting in his study, staring out towards the far wall, although no observer would have interpreted his activity as being focused on the wall. He was sporting a stare much to vacant for that.

Daphne caught James as he re-entered the manor after seeing Teddy to the green.

"What?" James asked.

"That's right, James Greengrass POTTER," Daphne hissed. "What? I know that look. Don't make me wheedle it out of you."

The prospect of his mother, the Healer Lady Daphne Potter-Black, wheedling was too much to bear. James turned away, regained a little control, and came back.

"I'd rather show it to you," he said.

"Where?" asked Daphne.

"The Mill," James said, "Just upstream a bit from the bridge."

Daphne looked at the door to the study. There hadn't been any noise from in there for twenty minutes or so. She decided to take a chance.

"Harry," she said, "James and I will be outside."

"Okay," came Harry's reply. That was it. Just 'Okay.'

"Stick in the mud," Daphne muttered as she led James to the front door. "You'll never know what's going on if you don't get up and go look."

It was a nice evening so Daphne and James walked to the Mill. Daphne caught up on all the news from the greenhouse, or 'The Exquisite Conservatory' as it was becoming in Potter parlance. She probed around assessing James' readiness for the coming school term, looked for indicators he was worried about particular subjects or professors, all the while concentrating on communicating expressions of confidence in James' abilities as a scholar and practical botanist.

"Here we are," James announced, waving the back of his hand at a pile of limestone. It could have been excess from the construction of the manor, placed out of the way until needed for some repair or addition.

"It's a pile of rocks," Daphne said. She looked at James. He still looked awfully pleased with himself.

"Yes," James said, the pride evident in his voice. "Yes, it is, and yet it is so much more."

James fished around in his shirt pocket and removed a small piece of parchment, which he handed to Daphne.

"Read this, and think about what you are saying," James advised.

Daphne looked at the copperplate calligraphy in the fading light.

" _Lumos_ ," said James, putting some light on the sheet.

" _Harry Potter wishes to sit on his bench_ ," Daphne read, the blocks beginning to shift almost before she had finished.

"Mum," James said, offering his arm, which Daphne took. James conveyed her to the limestone bench and bade her sit, then stepped back.

"You did this?" Daphne asked. "What's it for?"

"Teddy and I did it," James said. "Dad said he would like a stone placed around here so he could sit on the stone, alone with his thoughts and the sounds of nature. I talked to Teddy, Teddy and I took an idea to Grandfather, he did some refinements and helped us with the charm, and here we are. How is it? Can you think better? The cool stone, the babbling brook…?"

"Yes!" Daphne said, almost a shout. "Oh, you wizards! He's going to love it, James. Sincerely, I love it, already!"

"I hope so," said James. "He asked for a rock. Don't want to over-refine it and lose the rusticity."

"James," Daphne said. "This is seriously advanced magical landscape architecture, even if you and Teddy did bring in Father. Can you put it back?"

"Of course," laughed James. "Just get up and read the back of the little page…"

" _Harry Potter is finished sitting_ ," Daphne read. The blocks lost their bench form and became a pile of rocks.

"You'll keep our secret until tomorrow?" James asked.

"Certainly," Daphne said. "I wonder if we should plan coffee on the patio, then a stroll down so you can give your father his present, then breakfast under the arbor for everyone?"

"I'm for it," James said. "He may decide to take the day off for a period of intense stream-visiting."

Harry did love his birthday present, and the breakfast afterwards. Daphne'd had the presence of mind to floo-call Kendra and Victoire when she and James returned to the house. The elves laid on a spectacular al fresco breakfast under the arbor, attended by Harry, Daphne and the children, Tracey and Zelda, Kendra and Fabio, Andromeda, Victoire and Teddy, and of course Lissette. Harry had to send a message by owl saying for reasons of a family activity (he couldn't bring himself to characterize his birthday breakfast as an emergency), he wouldn't be getting to the office before ten-thirty or eleven.

Much as he would have liked to combine his work day with intense stream-visiting, the things he needed and the people to whom he'd assigned tasks were in London, in the building occupied by the department that was never acknowledged. Harry got a short distance into his meeting with Pythagoras, the head of the analysts, and the chief of the operations section, and knew he needed to push the investigation to completion, so he could get the results to Kingsley.

"Consistent with a complete and thorough study and assessment, please, please keep at it and get this done," Harry said. "They are doing everything wrong, misusing magic in the furtherance of criminal acts, abusing minors, laundering money, you name it. We have to put an end to this. We'll keep it in-house through close of business. I want us all to agree we're ready before we hand our work off to the aurors."

"Sir," said Pythagoras, "Have you considered letting the aurors assign someone to keep an eye on you? Watch your back?"

"No," Harry said, "The aurors have enough to do. The only person from the Lafleur bunch who would have a problem with me would be Jacques Lafleur, or someone thinking he or she was doing something Lafleur wanted done. They would be wrong. If Lafleur wants to harm me, he will come himself. If that happens, very few aurors would be capable of holding him off, much less putting him out of commission."

"Told you," said the head of operations as he stood up. "Thank-you, sir."

Pythagoras held Harry's gaze an extra beat.

"Please think about it," he said. "You can always change your mind."

"I appreciate the thought," said Harry. "I mean that, sincerely."

Though still incomplete, the investigation had already established the Lafleur outfit were running a criminal enterprise. Lafleur wrongdoing covered a wide, complex spectrum. Lafleur nominees were principals in a number of companies that bought and sold St. Guinefort Partners, LLC, of Douglas. The transactions were done in Douglas, via direct transfers between accounts. That was why they showed up on the minimal banking reports required by the Manx authorities.

The land inside the muggle fence watched over by the security guard was not owned by St. Guinefort Partners, LLC. It was leased from the municipality of St. Guinefort, which amounted to the sovereign national government of the island. The lease period was five years, but it was renewable at the option of St. Guinefort Partners. There was no tax on the land, the land rent being the only cost to St. Guinefort Partners. Plans had been filed with the engineering office of the municipality, but at the request of St. Guinefort Partners approval action had been suspended pending a design decision, unspecified. St. Guinefort Partners had been sold three times in five years.

Harry was forced to admit he admired the simplicity of it all. St. Guinefort Partners, LLC, owned nothing of value, so there was no exposure to catastrophic loss. Lafleur had the sunk costs of the land lease, some building plans, a cheap fence, a faded sign and a salary for one security guard. For that he had acquired an instrument that enabled him to move millions of galleons through the bank accounts of corporations that existed only in the incorporation papers in the file folders in a lawyer's office in Douglas. Needless to say, all of the sales had been for one hundred galleons and other consideration. Lafleur had an instrument for cleaning up the ill-gotten gains from almost any perfidious enterprise, his own or another's, as the occasion warranted. As an additional sweetener, aside from a few tax stamps required when the incorporation papers were transferred from one fund, partnership, trust or venture capital firm to another, the trading of St. Guinefort Partners, LLC, was essentially tax-free for everyone.

Harry conceded that he wasn't a legal expert, despite his experience as an auror. The miscreants he chased were much less sophisticated and given to committing clear-cut crimes like theft, assault and unauthorized dabbling in dark magic. This was something different and he'd like to wind up the information collecting and hand everything off to the aurors, with the appropriate sanitation in the interest of keeping his department out of the record.

Then there was the mysterious principality in the South of France. That might be a situation someone like him could deal with. If Lafleur had access to his own magical micro-state, or a firm grip on the proprietor of one, the St. Guinefort Partners might be small potatoes. The possible appearance of Lafleur in the principality was still the fuzziest element among the three that appeared at Harry's starting point. He needed the field section to produce, something, or they would have to drop the subject. Well, maybe they wouldn't drop it. There was a magical principality where there wasn't supposed to be one. With a situation like that, a person with Harry's job would be expected to conduct a little research.

The magical world had its own directories, equivalents to the _Almanac de Gotha_ or De Brett's or Burke's guides. Harry stepped out of his office and told his assistant he'd be at the ministry, in the library, looking up a couple of things. It shouldn't take more than an hour, but there was something he wanted to check on personally, and the assistant was to feel free to summon Harry back if anything arrived that required his immediate attention.

Harry nodded to the ministry librarian at the desk and went on to the stacks. He pulled out a magical atlas and a guide to magical noble houses that he'd consulted before. The thing was hopelessly arcane and followed a cryptic organizational plan. That aside, once a witch or wizard figured out how to keep the target subject fixed in their mind just _so_ , the book turned helpful, even a bit pushy.

"Ever think of asking for help?"

"Hermione! How…" Harry began.

"Oh, if I told, it wouldn't be a mystery!" Hermione said, just slightly cutting him off.

"Let's see, geography and a question about ancients and nobles, intersecting someplace on the Mediterranean coast of Europe," Hermione said, assessing Harry's reference books.

"Yes," he said, becoming slightly irritated. "Anything else I should know?"

"Uh-huh," Hermione said, "You should take conversations right over there to the little conference rooms with doors that close. That's what they are there for."

She picked up the guide and left, without another word, so Harry brought the atlas. It was just easier.

"Does this have to do with Jacques Lafleur?" Hermione asked when Harry had closed the door. She rubbed her hand across the chair seat before sitting. Dust free, she noted with approval.

"Yes," Harry said, "There was a report, very vague, or fragmentary, little more than gossip. He, or someone who could have been him, was seen in one of those little jurisdictions on the coast."

"Just any jurisdiction? Nice? Cannes?" Hermione asked.

"Close," Harry said. "It's supposed to be a magical micro-state, a principality, near the border between Monte Carlo and France."

"Oh, _l'Anse des Sorciers_ ," Hermione said. "Very magical. Muggles enter a tunnel on the coast road that is France on both ends, enter from France, exit to France, but magical types enter and come out in _l'Anse des Sorciers_. It's not really a bay, more of a cove. A village on the water and the big house up on the hill. A little stream cascades down over some rocks. It's most dramatic."

"You're a font of information, Hermione," Harry said. "Once again. Tell me what I need to know."

"It's a principality," Hermione said, "A sovereign state. The rulers have practically fetishized discretion, you could say, which is why it is still independent. Rumor is it is up for sale, land, rights, privileges and immunities."

"Is there a title?" Harry asked.

Hermione turned to the back of the guide book, to the index. She ran her finger down a column then worked back until she found the page.

"Serene," Hermione said.

"Isn't that usually Serene Highness?" Harry asked.

"There are Serene Highnesses, that's true," Hermione said. "Let's see. Ha!"

Harry took that to mean Hermione had unearthed another of her precious facts.

"Lothar the Magnificent, the great thirteenth century sorcerer/magical empire builder," she read, "Rewarded a soldier in his service with the land and was in the middle of declaring the soldier and his progeny Serene Highnesses in perpetuity when Lothar was assassinated by a spurned lover. The court lawyers and seers disappeared into the archives and concluded the soldier had been awarded the land and was declared a Serene, but since Lothar had not gotten beyond that point then the title would remain in its truncated form."

Harry felt, as he often did, that magical life was testing his gullibility.

"Odd," said Hermione.

"Hmm…?"

"Well, the soldier's name was Hugues Lestrange," Hermione said. "What is it with you and that family?"

"Wish I knew," Harry shrugged.

Harry and Hermione broke it off, returned the books to their shelves and thanked the librarian on their way out the door. It was time they got back to their regular jobs, the ones the ministry actually paid them to do.


	48. Chapter 48

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Forty-Eight

A Delicious Riviera Adventure

The magical world has its own guidebooks for tourists, as one would expect. They weren't all that different from the ones filling the shelves at muggle bookstores and libraries. If a muggle would happen across one on the bench in the waiting room of the bus depot, they might amuse themselves for an extended period reading about local attractions in places like St. Guinefort and _l'Anse des Sorciers_. Should a non-magical person try to find their way to one of those magical locales, however, they would surely be disappointed to find themselves in the middle of a pasture or staring up at the megaliths that blocked the way further down the beach.

Harry thought the port key had worked so well for the jaunt to St. Guinefort that he'd use it for _l'Anse des Sorciers_. Moreover, Daphne had not only done well in her role, she'd obviously had a good time. Harry thought he'd invite her again, this time being honest right from the start. First, though, he did a little research in one of the popular guidebooks to the sites of magical Europe.

The usual way to get to _l'Anse des Sorciers_ was by one of the ubiquitous tour buses that shuttle travelers from place to place all over the Continent. The guidebook listed two places catering to the magical tourist trade that gave good service. The book added a helpful hint, that the traveler ask to book a vehicle and driver for a trip to ' _l'Anse'_ as that was the local diminutive.

"So, want to go?" Harry asked.

He and Daphne were behind the closed door of Harry's study.

"Yes, I want to," Daphne said. "Does it have to be tomorrow? Can we go on Saturday? It's a lot easier for me to clear my calendar. We don't have meetings and I'll get someone to visit my patients."

"Saturday would be fine," Harry said. "Better, even. We'd just be a couple sightseeing on a summer Saturday. No reason for anyone to even notice us."

The port key was arranged for nine-thirty on the following Saturday. Harry and Daphne's original intent was to leave at nine and return at three in the afternoon, just the two of them. Through some combination of reasoning from shaky premises, wheedling and persistence, Harry was never sure just how, the party leaving for France comprised Harry, Daphne, Iolanthe, Lissette and James.

"Well, now," James said when he climbed onto the bus for the short road trip to _l'Anse_. The bus depot was part of a complex that served magical travelers. It was located in a mixed village on the coast road. It perched on the very edge of a cliff that plunged straight down to the sea. The presence of muggles nearby was recognized in the charm that caused the non-magical man or woman to see the cliff, guardrail and dropoff around fifteen meters inland from where it was located, and not to see the magical roadside stop at all.

The outer aspect of the bus was indistinguishable from the hundreds of thousands of oversized vans that plied the streets and roads of European towns and cities daily. The same rows of darkened windows with the headrests just visible marched down the sides, the same manufacturer's plaques appeared at the same places and the dual rear wheels waited to apply themselves to the macadam driving surface.

The proper touring magical family, once checked-in and ushered to the folding door just behind the right front wheel, however, did not enter into the usual passenger compartment. There was no center aisle between pairs of seats, nor an overhead luggage rack for satchels and backpacks.

The Potters entered a room that would have been unremarkable, had it been located in the mansion at the Black estate in Cornwall. A Bukhara carpet in crimson and indigo nearly covered the entire hardwood floor. There was a settee for two in a soft leather, also crimson, and three wing chairs upholstered in heavy black silk. Three green bottles of mineral water were cooling in a silver ice bucket. At the far end a mahogany door on the left led somewhere, presumably the on-board rest room, and a fireplace, complete with a cheery fire, cut across the right rear corner. The entire room was paneled in a beautiful, honey-colored wood with bird's-eye accents in a regular pattern. Bookshelves were built into the paneling to the right of the fireplace. A tidal pool aquarium sat atop the bookcase, slowly filling and emptying. The ceiling was also paneled, although the expanse of flat wood was relieved by a grid pattern of squares formed from lengths of casing in the same wood.

Harry and Daphne deferred to the young people, taking the leftover seats when everyone else was situated. Harry was still standing up looking around when a uniformed driver boarded and stood by his seat at the front.

"Welcome to our bus lines, ladies and gentlemen," said the driver, "My name is Bernard, and I will be driving you to _l'Anse_ this morning. We have done our best to make the cabin interesting for our discerning witches and wizards, but I encourage you to also enjoy the scenery along the way, which I believe you will find quite dramatic. A word of caution: Although the fireplace is fully-functional as a fireplace it is not connected to a floo network. While floo powder does work for taking the careless witch or wizard out of the bus and sending them someplace, the company is not aware of where they end up. Therefore, the company cannot accept any responsibility for mishaps related to using the fireplace in such manner, even if the passenger did bring his or her own floo powder. If there are no questions, we will now depart."

Bernard looked around. Iolanthe wondered how many people had a question ready for Bernard at question time, but didn't ask. Bernard turned and sat down in his seat. The seat and controls looked exactly like those on one of the ubiquitous touring and shuttle vans passing by on the coast road. Iolanthe watched Bernard as he drew his wand and gave it a few flicks in the direction of the dashboard, plus one tap on the steering wheel. The bus began to move.

Bernard put on a convincing show, but it did not take Iolanthe very long to conclude that he had no part in conveying the bus down the coast road. That probably did not matter because the bus was animated by magic, not petroleum products exploding in combustion chambers. The only sound was a low and pleasant tone that made Iolanthe think of a bus that loved its work, lost itself in it, and amused itself with melodies of songs it liked as it went through the day. Bernard gave himself a good workout, waving his arms over his steering wheel and occasionally tooting the buses' evocative two-toned horn.

At one point a rock fall blocked one side of the two lane road, and the conventional cars, trucks and buses had to take turns working their way around the blockage. Bernard, however, waved his arms over his steering wheel and steered the bus out over the dropoff to the sea, around the rocks, and back to the road.

"Fascinating," said Iolanthe, and led the round of applause the passengers awarded Bernard.

The bus was equipped with an internal public address system. Bernard called the Potters' attention to the tunnel ahead, where they would depart from the conventional route along the coast and divert to the quaint settlement at _l'Anse des Sorciers_. The method of leaving the mundane route for the magical was well-established if imperfectly understood, the first mention appearing in a manuscript dating to the year 908. The original was in the Vatican library, in a box, under seal, as well as an interdict over one thousand years old. A copy, of course, was in the parish church back at their starting point and hundreds of clerics of all ranks were known to have visited _l'Anse_ as tourists over the centuries.

As for the method of departure from the muggle route through the tunnel, the magical conveyance passed through a waterfall inside the tunnel and somehow adjusted its route, deviating from the non-magical course. A few minutes later the bus would emerge on the main street of _l'Anse_. Bernard had barely finished his speech about the waterfall when the bus was filled with the sound of water pounding on the roof. Bernard sat hunched over his steering wheel, peering intently ahead through the water inundating the windshield. The bus, water and road surface combined to give sounds that conveyed some slight wheelspin, loss of traction, slewing left and right, the dropping of a wheel into a substantial pothole, and finally dry pavement. Seconds later, the bus emerged into sunlight, well-down the cliffside, coasting the last hundred meters into the parking area at the beginning of the corniche.

The village itself was not suited for motor transport as the cobbled streets and alleys were too narrow. The guidebook assured visitors the necessary adjustments had been made to allow a magical ambulance to enter and leave, according to emergency requirements. Daphne found that interesting. Magical patients didn't arrive at St. Mungo's by mechanical conveyances, even magical ones. That would have been redundant, if one took the time to think about it.

The Potters got out of the bus, stretching and twisting.

"Great job, Monsieur Bernard," Iolanthe said as she climbed down.

Everyone felt a definite chill, down in the shade of the cliffs beside the sea. Iolanthe opened her satchel and pulled out several yards of the Hogwarts tartan. She threw it around her, double-layering the cloth over her left shoulder, fastening it with the copy of the silver Viking brooch she had gotten through Anthony Goldstein. Iolanthe stuffed her hair up under her black tam and assessed their surroundings.

"Fabulous," she declared.

"Um-hmm," Lissette agreed. "It has a feeling of welcome, and hospitality, and a slow thoughtfulness."

If asked, Lissette would have admitted she didn't know exactly what she meant by her remark, as she was still standing in the parking lot with the Potters and Bernard, the magical tour bus driver.

"Maybe we should go look around," she said.

The port key would return the tourists to Potter Manor in six hours no matter where they were, so Harry had only booked the van for a one-way trip. He took Bernard aside and thanked him for the wonderful driving and tour guiding, pressing a little drawstring bag with a few galleons into his hand as they shook. Bernard was thrilled, offered to return if needed, and invited the Potters back for another visit any time.

Harry caught up to the family as it reached the end of the parking lot and the first narrow street into _l'Anse des Sorciers_. They walked up and down the streets at the foot of the cliff, taking their time looking at the wares of the shopkeepers, smelling the geraniums that seemed to be bursting out of terra cotta pots wherever one looked. Iolanthe was glad she had come prepared when they were in shadow, but loosened her tartan wrap in the August sunshine.

"What a delightful place," Daphne said. "What do you think, James?"

"I like the light, and the colors," James said. "Something about the way it looks, I suspect some involvement of sky and refraction from the water. Maybe."

James looked at Iolanthe, who shrugged.

"Sounds like a project," she said. "Look into it and submit the article when you're ready to publish."

"You could say, 'I don't know,'" James observed.

"I…I could, couldn't I?" Iolanthe said, making it sound as if James had just revealed the meaning of life.

The village had a number of choices for lunch. The best locations along the corniche were occupied by cafés advertising a range of specialties. _L'Anse_ being a completely magical principality meant that there were some differences in the menus from what a tourist familiar with other, mundane Mediterranean seaside spots would expect.

One board featured a beautiful colored chalk portrait of a fire-breathing dragon squeezed between two halves of a baguette and promised a dragon, lettuce and tomato sandwich for nine sickels. Iolanthe went for her wand without thinking until Daphne laid one hand on Iolanthe's forearm and reached around her waist with the other.

"It's chicken, dear, commercial trade in dragon meat is outlawed," she said, getting Iolanthe under control.

A consensus did emerge, after some discussion and backtracking and the Potters settled down in a waterside patio. Their waiter was very gracious. He spoke decent English, and Daphne spoke excellent French, so even the social pleasantries went smoothly. Everyone was welcomed to l'Anse des Sorciers, it was established that the Potters were on their first visit, the waiter was thrilled to be the one to make a first impression on behalf of his fellow citizens, and everyone agreed caprese salads and Margherita pizzas would be just the thing for lunch.

"This is nice," Harry said. "I like breathing the sea air."

"It's beautiful," said James. "Someone took a lot of time and trouble to get that slope terraced and planted."

Everyone turned and looked up toward the big house on the hill.

"It looks natural," Iolanthe said.

"It does," James said. "There is a pattern to the stonework and plantings, though. They'd have regular landslides if the slope wasn't stabilized and the rain captured and diverted, making me think someone invested the time and effort to make all their work look like it just happened. They're hanging gardens, in a way."

Daphne looked at Harry.

"Brilliant," she said. Harry shrugged, deferring with respect to his son and father-in-law, whose magical landscaping kept his physical surroundings green and harmonious.

Lissette didn't have anything against the terracing and the beautiful hillside. She didn't think they were all that compelling, seeing them more as complementary accents to the dramatic cascade of water that crashed against boulders all along its path down to the sea from some hidden source a hundred meters or more above.

"Nice?" asked Iolanthe, nodding at the spot where the water formed a pool before joining the sea.

"Very," said Lissette. "I suspect it is the water we drove through on the way here. It enervates this whole area. Do you feel it?"

"You're right," said James. "Grandfather would go wild here. He wouldn't sit still until he had walked over all of it, mapping all the magic. Some of that terracing stays where it is with the help of magic, I'm sure."

The food arrived and the table was a riot of color, green, red, white and the honey-colored crusts of the pizzas. Table talk was subdued, for a Potter lunch. Something about the combination of sea air, sunshine, the sloshing of the Mediterranean through the jumble of boulders beneath the corniche, all accompanied by the steady 'sh-h-h-h-ss' of the cascade falling into its pool, put the need to converse firmly in second place to enjoying the food and company and quiet.

The Potters were finished, except for James who had appointed himself keeper of the pepperoncini, when the waiter returned. He was doing a bit of bowing and scraping as he interrupted with a, " _Monsieur et Madame…_ "

Harry and Daphne looked up to see an ancient witch at the waiter's elbow. She wore black, primarily, brightened up with a voluminous verdigris and lavender silk scarf folded into a triangle and draped over her shoulders.

" _Je presente…_ " he tried, but the newcomer interrupted.

"It's fine, just let me…"

She patted him on the arm and nodded, and the waiter returned inside.

"Caroline, the Serene," said the witch. "From up there."

She waved toward the house up the hill.

"Aren't you Daphne Greengrass?"

"Well, it's Daphne Greengrass Potter now, but yes," Daphne said. "And this is your…"

"Principality," said Caroline.

Everyone stood up. Daphne curtsied before going on.

"Your Serene, my husband, Harry Potter," she said.

"It's Lord Potter-Black, isn't it?" asked Caroline.

"Yes, your Serene," Harry said, accepting the offered hand and inclining his head.

"Our children, Iolanthe and James," Daphne continued. Iolanthe curtsied, as well as she was able, trapped a bit between the chair and table. James was a little distant to expect the Serene to extend her hand, but he did a credible nod of the head.

"And this is our dear friend, and an associate of the Potter-Blacks, Miss Lissette Lestrange."

Caroline's jaw dropped just a little. She recovered, though, and gave Lissette a big smile.

"Please, let's sit," Caroline said. A large man in a charcoal suit, wearing a perfectly pressed white shirt, tieless, appeared from somewhere with another chair for Caroline. She sat before scooting forward just a little, the man, presumably a bodyguard and personal assistant, sliding the chair forward with her. The Serene motioned him to come close and she gave him some instruction the Potters couldn't hear, after which the man disappeared inside the restaurant.

"I was out in my garden and looked down and I saw you here and I couldn't let the opportunity pass," Caroline began. "I wasn't sure it was you until I got down here. I've read your articles in the mental maladies journals. We share an interest. Not that we have a lot of mental maladies in _l'Anse_ , unless this is all imaginary and a construction of my own personal mental malady.

She laughed at her own joke, so everyone else joined in.

"I met your Grandmother Davis, something like a century ago," the Serene continued. "Some kind of Beauxbatons-Hogwarts event. I've paid attention to the wedding and birth notices from all over Europe. When you're as small as we are, you keep your head down and try to keep track of everything that could affect you.

"So, what brings you to _l'Anse_? We're delighted you're here, of course, which I should have told you before now," said the Serene.

"That's me, Madame," Harry said. "I stumbled upon something in some reading, looked up _l'Anse_ , was intrigued, and decided to come and see it for myself. I invited Daphne, then we expanded the party with the young people…It just evolved."

Caroline the Serene thought that was extremely funny, for some reason.

"Evolved! I love it," she exclaimed. "Most of our visitors come to us because they're traveling along the coast and hear about us from another magical tourist. They take the bus, in and out the same day, most of the time, but there are rooms upstairs in several of the buildings here in the village, so we do get a few people staying over. Sometimes they spend the night, sometimes a week."

"I could see why!" Harry said. "It's perfect. The sea, the sky, the architecture, the dramatic topography. It's perfect."

"My husband likes it," observed Daphne.

"Will you be coming back? I hope?" Caroline asked.

"Expect so," Harry said. "How could we not?"

The waiter was back with a large tray, bringing coffee, green bottles of mineral water, cookies and fresh tableware.

"Since we're all here, allow me to throw you a little welcome reception," said the Serene. The waiter distributed cups and glassware, then poured coffee, followed by the mineral water.

"Welcome to _l'Anse_ ," Caroline said, holding up her cup.

Coffee talk continued. Daphne learned about Caroline's lifelong fascination with the psychology of magical minds. Caroline interrogated the children concerning their interests, academic and otherwise. She asked James some fairly involved botanical questions and was delighted at his level of expertise. The Serene related that she'd had an earlier connection with Fabio, of which Daphne had not been aware, and told how they had met through some international magical trade matter. Harry was largely left alone, an unusual and refreshing state of affairs.

"Can I offer you a tour?" Caroline asked when the cups were drained. "Do you have time?"

"If it doesn't take too long," Harry said. "We have a port key that will take us back in about two hours. If it activates without us we'll need to arrange another."

"Not a problem," said Caroline. She signaled to her assistant who seemed to pop into existence behind her chair. "We're not nearly big enough to consume two hours."

She laughed again at her own joke. Caroline had a way of describing the entire principality as 'we' which led to a few moments of confusion when it wasn't clear whether she was referring to the physical statelet or the population or herself.

"We start here at the water. This is our business district. The owners usually live over the shop, but we have a few homes a little further on," said the Serene, snapping into tour guide mode.

The travelogue was interesting. Harry was coming up with questions almost as fast as Caroline dispensed information.

How did the little magical principality generate income? The shops looked fully-stocked, indicating a fair amount of commerce went on, so there had to be customers. The merchants couldn't be selling and buying in a steady state without some outside input. There didn't seem to be any arable land, and the hill was terraced gardens. Magic would explain a lot, but not everything.

The party arrived, eventually, at a little funicular lift. The passenger platform looked much too small until the Serene waved her wand and all seven pedestrians became passengers on the lift. Another wave put the mechanism in motion, without a sound, presumably the result of more magic. In less than a minute the platform arrived at a kind of observation deck a few meters down the hill from the big house.

"Take a minute to look around," said Caroline. "If you're worried about time we can see you off from right here. I'm going to the house for just a minute, if you'll excuse me."

"Well," said Harry when Caroline had departed with her bodyguard.

"Didn't expect a state visit reception," Daphne added.

"Nice plant selection," James noted. "See the succession?"

"James, you've left us all behind when it comes to botany," Iolanthe answered for everyone. "Could you please explain?"

"Sure," said James, "Each of the flowers you see had a predecessor, which has completed its cycle and is now just the green parts, and a successor, which will be coming into bloom as the current ones finish."

Harry looked at Daphne. Iolanthe and Lissette looked at James.

"Brilliant," confirmed Iolanthe. "Properly chosen at the beginning of the year, your flowers will be blooming throughout the growing season."

"Exactly," said James, sounding quite satisfied with himself.

Caroline was walking down the path from the house carrying a book under one arm. She stopped at a wooden bench among the beds and motioned everyone over.

"Here, Lissette," she said, patting the bench beside her. "You might find this interesting."

"I don't know how much you know about _l'Anse des Sorciers_ , but our little country here has been magical from its beginning," Caroline said. "The first Serene's full name was Hugues Lestrange. We're still considered the Lestrange Dynasty, although we've had to make do with a Lestrange by marriage here and there. To cover a troublesome gap, you understand."

Caroline signaled the humor with a very girlish giggle.

"Healer, you're acquainted with Fleur and Gabrielle Delacours, certainly?" said Caroline, looking up from the book. As she did so she slid her hand between the cover and the stiff facing page.

"Yes!" Daphne said. "We're very close. Harry's godson married Bill and Fleur's daughter Victoire. That makes us all in-laws, of a sort."

James and Iolanthe thought being deemed Victoire's in-laws was quite droll and stifled their laughs.

"Fleur and Gabrielle's grandmother and I were at Beauxbatons together. You must give them my regards. Assure them they don't need an invitation to visit," said the Serene, "Although, I could be a bit more attentive to my social obligations, I'll admit."

Attention had shifted to Daphne during the exchange. Caroline palmed a folded sheet of note paper and laid it in the open book, knocked her knee into Lissette's, and shifted her eyes to see Lissette's reaction. Lissette, becoming quite practiced at conspiracy, nodded her head in confirmation. Caroline closed her book and handed it to Lissette.

"Take it, dear," she said, putting the book in Lissette's hands. "Now that we've met, I do want you back, preferably before school starts. Read up on the family a little before you travel. All of the Potters are welcome, of course. If you let us know a little in advance we can arrange rooms for everyone right down below there in the village."

"That is so gracious of you, your Serene," Daphne said. "Of course we'll be back, now that we know you are here. You have the most perfect principality!"

Everyone agreed, the consensus was _l'Anse_ really was a perfect principality.

"And…" Harry said, "We're under a minute to activation. Better get ready. Your Serene…"

Harry nodded, remembered not to extend his hand first, accepting Caroline's when she offered. Caroline returned to the ascending path and climbed a little to get out of the way. The Potters linked up and the port key went live.

Dropping out of the sky onto the Potter Manor green with mixed results did nothing to dampen spirits. Everyone got up laughing.

"Still got the book?" Iolanthe asked, and Lissette held it up.

"What is it, the Lestrange stud book?" Daphne asked. The others looked at her.

"Stud book? The record of blood horses' ancestry? The bible of thoroughbred breeders?" Daphne asked, looking around. All shook their heads.

"Muggles like horses," Daphne began, "Maybe not all, but lots of them do. They breed them, race them, breed some more, race them, gamble. Some wizards have gotten the disease, but most don't stay with it because using magic to try and fiddle with nature is just too tempting. Breeders are always trying to breed and raise a superior horse, so they try this pair and that pair. Keeping track of it all in a master record. That's the stud book. Wizards can obsess about ancestry. If the book Caroline gave Lissette is a bunch of family trees, it's the Lestrange family stud book."

Harry addressed the other members of the party.

"If any of you are dim enough to discount anything Healer Daphne says, ever…"

He left it hanging, no need to go further.

"Do we have a stud book, Father?" Iolanthe asked as the party headed for the house. She pulled her tartan wrap from her shoulders and folded it into a sash, re-fastening it with her silver brooch.

"Your grandmother would know," Harry said as they walked on. "She is the font of magical history, along with Madame Walburga."

Lissette kept her head down. She looked at the book, specifically, at the outer edge of the pages. She could see the little space where Caroline's note was interleaved.

Harry and Daphne found the rest of the household in the salon. Davis and Evans were conversing as they rolled and flopped about on the carpet, closely supervised by Tracey and Zelda.

"I hope you're ready to eat, young Toms," said Daphne, "Because I'm ready for some relief."

Lissette sat down on a chair near the fireplace and opened Caroline's book. It did appear to be a Lestrange stud book, with lots of family trees interspersed with narrative chapters on the family's many branches. The book opened to the pages where Caroline had slipped the notepaper. Lissette picked up the envelope and noticed the red wax seal. She turned it over and read: "Lord Potter-Black, Potter Manor, Devon."

"Lord Harry," she said, extending her arm. Harry took the envelope.

"This is from…?"

"The Serene," Lissette answered.

Harry looked at Daphne. Daphne looked back. Harry started to slip his thumb under the envelope's flap, then thought again.

"I'll take this in the study," he said, "Thank-you, Lissette."

Iolanthe, James and Daphne all looked at Lissette.

"I don't know anything about it," Lissette said. "The Serene made sure I saw it was in the book before she handed it to me."

"Sounds like intrigue to me," Daphne said. "I'll just go see if our leader can use any help. Be right back lads."

Daphne left for the study, while Evans and Davis amused themselves, rolling and flopping against one another.

Daphne found Harry sitting behind his desk, the folded parchment on the blotter before him. Harry had his wand out, moving it slowly over the parchment, back, and back again, a few inches above the desk top.

"Nothing obvious," he said, without looking up. "I'm confident there hasn't been anything Dark put on it, but there could be other tricky things. I'm ready to try a little revealing, if you're game?"

"Absolutely," Daphne said. "We must get to the bottom of this."

"Okay, here we go," Harry said, with a wave. Nothing happened. The result was no result at all.

Harry paid strict attention to the seal and cast a revealing charm on the wax impression, again without getting any reaction.

"Let's see," Harry said, slipping a letter opener under the sealed flap. He shook the sheet to unfold it, as Daphne positioned herself to read over his shoulder.

"My Lord Potter-Black," the note began.

"Thank you for visiting our principality with your beautiful family. Business dictates I must visit London next week. I would very much appreciate it if you would permit me to call on you Monday afternoon. The time and place will be at your convenience. I will await your reply.

Regards,

Caroline"

"Your instincts were correct, Harry," Daphne said, kneading his neck and shoulder muscles.

"Maybe," Harry said, "But she could also be trailing a reporter and a photographer from Witch Weekly, doing a little publicity for _l'Anse_."

"Could be," said Daphne. "I doubt it. Right now I'm going to take your twins upstairs for a meal."

"Oh, will that be conducive to consultations?" Harry asked, standing up.

Harry and Daphne each took a twin, climbed the stairs, then picked out a rocker in the nursery.

"I'm open for revelations," Harry said.

"You have been worrying your Jacques Lafleur problem for weeks, Harry," Daphne began. "St. Guinefort is part of it. So is _l'Anse des Sorciers_ , and the Serene. So is Caroline's self-invitation to wherever you want to meet. You've already given that some consideration, if I know you, and I think I do, and my guess would be #12 Grimmauld Place. My second guess would be The Mill."

"Actually," Harry said, "I have considered those…"

"Hah!" agreed Daphne.

"And, I think I'd like to take our demi-royal someplace special. Not that our lovely homes aren't special, no, just something special, and a bit different," Harry said, dragging it out and savoring every morsel. "I'd like to buy her lunch at Morgan le Fay's."

Daphne didn't say anything. She wasn't at a loss for words, rather, she was thinking through what Harry had said, looking at the different facets. Harry had his reasons, surely. She didn't know exactly what those were, but they'd be well-founded. She couldn't identify a fault in his plan.

"Mind if I ask why?" Daphne asked.

"It's convenient, Blaise can handle security, and everyone is in a good mood, sitting there looking out at London." Harry rocked back, his face sporting a very satisfied look.

"As long as she isn't afraid of heights," Daphne said. "Have you looked into that?"

Harry's face fell.

"No," was anti-climactic.

"She probably isn't," Daphne conceded, "Or she wouldn't have been so comfortable on the funicular, going up to her palace on the hill. It would still be a good idea to find out before you pop out of the fireplace at Morgan le Fay's."

Harry nodded.

"Point," he acknowledged. "Okay, can we go on? What do you think she wants to see me about? Social stuff? She's quite pleased to know you, even I could see that. My job? Closer cooperation? Does _l'Anse_ even have a service like ours? I'd better check that out, too. Then there's Lafleur."

"Yes," Daphne said, "And Jacques Lafleur is…"

"Michel Lestrange, or he was at birth," said Harry.

"And Lissette, our daughter's faithful retainer, has the Lestrange stud book, personally delivered by probably the highest-ranking Lestrange peer on the Continent," Daphne finished up. "Do you suppose she is meant to find something in there? I admit up front that is what I've been thinking."

Harry stopped to collect his thoughts. Daphne removed her baby and traded with Harry. Harry took his to a crib, changed him, and watched to make sure he was drifting off.

Washed up and back in his rocker, Harry offered a theory.

"Lafleur, or Lestrange, wants to make use of _l'Anse_ ," he said. "He might have a claim to succession, who knows? He's got his companies, the hotel project on St. Guinefort that he buys and sells, and now he wants a sovereign jurisdiction. There would be all kinds of things one could do with one's own sovereign state.

"My working assumption will be that she wants some help with Michel Lestrange," Harry went on. "If it is just socializing, that's fine, too. We'll go to lunch. Can you handle having an invitation ready for a longer stay before the weather gets bad? Something suitably splashy, but tasteful, considering our guest's rank. You've got the expertise, Tracey, your mother…If we threw a ball, in honor of a magical Serene from one of the oldest houses in Europe, respecting the old ways right down to the knee-britches…"

"Harry," Daphne said, "Are you sure you aren't a Slytherin? That would have some ramifications. Impact. A ball? Where? Other than the charities and the Ministry New Year's, we haven't had a ball since the second war. You'd be declaring the troubled times are behind us. Harry Potter would be announcing it's time to let a few of the old traditions back into magical life. Have you thought about that?"

"Not in those terms," he said. "I do respect tradition, though. Our traditions, and the old holidays and Hogwarts and bowers, those set us apart from muggle culture. I like them better than their muggle counterparts. If throwing a ball for our house-guest Caroline would be a step in normalizing our society, then I say, let's throw a ball."

Daphne rocked and fiddled with Davis' placement while she thought through some alternatives.

"The Autumn Equinox is September 23, so it is probably a bit late for us to start planning. Assuming Caroline says yes to the idea on Monday, we could go for Samhain, October 31," she said, finally.

"Good one, a ball for Samhain," said Harry. "I'll go down and compose something. We'll send it by owl. I'll propose lunch on Monday. If she has a commitment, we can still do Morgan le Fay's, we'll just do tea and a fruit salad, upstairs. You'll check my work?"

"Sure," said Daphne.

Harry's work was fine, and went out by owl before sundown. Caroline's reply was back before the Potters turned in that night. She regretted for lunch, due to a prior commitment, but accepted the invitation to tea. She liked the idea of a longer stay around Samhain, but could only tentatively accept until it was determined it did not conflict with something already on the state calendar.

Kingsley gave Ministry Protocol something useful to do, for a change, managing Caroline's day in London, so the meetup at Morgan le Fay's came off perfectly. Caroline loved the overhead views of London, and wasn't at all bothered by the height. Daphne even managed to break away from St. Mungo's for a brief drop-by. Caroline was delighted when Daphne arrived wearing a very witchy black trench coat with a black velvet collar over her everyday hospital work scrubs. Daphne assured Caroline she could have a few more days before committing for Samhain, one way or the other.

Later that evening, Daphne joined Harry in his study at Potter Manor.

"Jacques Lafleur, always Jacques Lafleur," Harry said. "Caroline is a twice-great-aunt, as I understand it. Lafleur wants to charter a few things in _l'Anse_. Caroline needn't concern herself with what they'll be doing, of course, he reassures her, everything is legal and above board, and _l'Anse_ will get a very nice flow of tax money with no work required on its part. Caroline expressed a complete lack of interest and Lafleur has been making some threats. She's worried."

"She should be," Daphne said. "Perhaps wary is better than worried. So, how does this all wind down, Harry? When does the law come down on this fraud?"

"We've turned our documentation over to the aurors and the prosecutor's office. I have to stay out of it now. Which means, I'll be paying a lot more attention to you and everyone around here," said Harry. "Lafleur is a criminal, after all. He won't go quietly. I was sure he and I would have had this sorted by now."

Harry stopped talking, pinching his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger.

"Let's go through our security plan again. I'll take a day of leave tomorrow. No stone unturned, how's that?"

"Of course, if you think it best," Daphne said.

"How are we for Hogwarts shopping?" Harry asked. "I haven't been keeping up very well."

"You've had a lot on your plate," said Daphne.

"True," Harry said, "But that's no excuse. Maybe I can be a little more reliable now."

When someone knocked on the door, Harry and Daphne both answered.

"Come in!"

Iolanthe opened the door a crack and looked in.

"Good time? Come back later?"

"No, of course not, sweetheart," Daphne said, "If it's important to you it's important to us."

Iolanthe stepped into the study, held the door open for Lissette, then closed it behind her.

"Lissette's been reading her family stud book," Iolanthe advised. "We agree you should probably look at something."

Harry and Daphne turned to look at Lissette, who took a few steps closer before putting the open book on Harry's desk.

"This is my father," Lissette began. "He's John, although he was named Jean-Charles by his parents, and that's my mother, and me. It looks like he is a first cousin of Caroline's. There is a big age gap, but their fathers are brothers. Iolanthe and I both looked and we can't find any relative closer to Caroline."

"Well, congratulations, Lissette," Harry said. "That has to make you an Honorable, at the very least."

Lissette turned crimson and looked down. Daphne cocked her head at her husband, just a little.

"That's wonderful news, Lissette," Daphne tried. "Now we'll have to make sure you get to know Caroline better. _L'Anse_ looks like a wonderful principality and the Serene was incredibly gracious. You might find you'd enjoy spending a little time there. It's a lovely part of the world."

"I suppose," Lissette said.

"How's your French?" Iolanthe asked.

"Could be better," Lissette admitted.

"It can only improve in _l'Anse_ ," observed Iolanthe.

"Can I keep this? For a little while?" Harry asked. "I've never had one of these before, I'd like to do some reading."

"Of course," Lissette said. "Keep it as long as you like. Up until I have to give it back to the Serene."

Lissette looked at Iolanthe, who opened the study door and led the way out into the hall. Daphne closed the door behind them.

"Is the picture clarifying, Lord Department Head?" Daphne asked.

Harry's head was down as he was still looking at the page Lissette had just shown him.

"We're going to spend some time with this," Harry said. "I want to do it together. Each of us might catch something the other doesn't. You're going to be much more knowledgeable about some of these families and their history than I am. You grew up in it. You're always better with the ancient and noble lore. I don't mind admitting I rely on you for subject matter expertise."

"Ah-hah!" Daphne said. "Finally. Who did you rely on before you met me?"

Harry thought for a moment.

"Molly Weasley is well-informed," he said. "The Weasleys had a natural aversion to the extreme tribalism, but they're both from pureblood families so they know their stuff. Ron Weasley can come up with some surprising insights. Neville got a lot of it from his grandmother. I always thought she was trying to make up for his parents being gone while he was young, like it would have been their job, so she had to work that much harder.

"Anyway, I defer to you."

"And I defer to you in all your areas of expertise," Daphne reassured him.

"Like what?"

"Oh, collection of information of the sort the holders don't want collected, conferring titles on your wife, making her kittens…"

"Stop," Harry said. "You aren't telling me I've made some more, are you?"

Daphne looked at Harry's face and started laughing.

"No," she said, "Not yet, anyway. Would you be upset if you did? With me? Or yourself?"

"Of course not," Harry said. "it just struck me that you were using some interesting language to let me know, and it was a bit of a shock, that's all. By the time Evans and Davis are out of Hogwarts we'll have raised two families, in a way."

Daphne walked behind Harry's desk and pulled his chair, and Harry, out a little way. Turning the chair on its swivel, Daphne sat down on Harry's lap and pulled his head close.

"We will," she said, "I never envisioned anything like this. When Astoria and I were girls we were pretty much absorbed in one another, and Tracey, then it looked like the world was going to be in chaos forever. You were always in the back of my mind but I could never see any possibility of us getting together. Then we did, and we got Iolanthe, and I thought that was it, I could not be any happier or more fulfilled, and then James came, and you brought Tracey and Zelda in. Just when we think we're done…Surprise!"

"All true," observed Harry. "Speaking of Tracey and Zelda, have you mentioned house-hunting?"

"We haven't gotten past the speculative phase," Daphne said. "Any particular reason you're thinking about it? With everything else that's on your mind?"

"No," said Harry, "If she wants to move to the Black estate when Zelda goes back to school, that would be fine. She could stay here, too, if she wanted. It's a big help with the twins when she's around. It's just a backup for her, were all of our assets suddenly unavailable."

"Ahhh…like muggle insurance," Daphne said.

"Yes," Harry said, "Yes, that's very close to what I had in mind. A little something she could count on being there if she were suddenly alone and had to start all over. Maybe she's got that managed. Maybe it's all moot, or not my business."

Harry rubbed his chin and thought for a bit before starting up again.

"It's not that I think we should interfere in Tracey's life," Harry said. "She and Zelda are more than family friends, or your cousin and her daughter. I have to think about how you and the children would get along were I not here. It's not pleasant but that is one's duty. There's a duty to include Tracey, in a way."

"Are you worried about the Lafleur situation?" Daphne asked.

"The law enforcement side has begun to make a little noise. The simple fact that there is an investigation causes concern. People who know they have a reason to be jumpy get jumpy," said Harry. "If the time comes when Lafleur and I are face to face and about to settle accounts, that is when I will use you. It won't be anything like whatever you have in mind. You will have to stay out of the fight, and I'll use you, just as I promised. Just remember to stay out of it, until it's done."

"Merlin, Harry, can you be a little more obscure?" asked Daphne, her voice a mixture of distress and confusion.

"Don't worry about it now," Harry said. "It really ought to work out just fine. You'll see."

He looked in her eyes.

"Really, you'll see."


	49. Chapter 49

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Forty-Nine

Magic Underlies Everything

Late summer life proceeded apace for the Potters, crises of state notwithstanding. Adult carers were juggled to provide for the twins so that Daphne and Tracey could take the Hogwarts students to Diagon Alley for shopping and lunch. The expedition took place on a fine August day that virtually guaranteed the Alley would be heavily populated with housemates.

Daphne maneuvered Lissette into a walk through the Potter Manor gardens the day before.

"Lissette, we're planning to go shopping for school tomorrow," she began. "Do you have your lists ready?"

"Ahh…Lady Daphne, I didn't know what to do about that," Lissette said. "You've all taken such good care of me, but I haven't needed any money. I hate to ask you to do more."

"Aha," said Daphne, "Well, you're in luck. You're our associate, by decree of the chief. Years ago, Harry arranged for income from the Black estate to be used to support the Black scholars. No one has to curtail their education for lack of finances, so you can leave all of that to me. Now, we're planning a ball for Samhain, if you didn't already know. Caroline is our guest of honor, and of course we'll need you to attend. It will be something of a debut for you, won't it? You achieved your majority in June. So we need to get started on a proper outfit."

"Lady Daphne, that's lovely but I know nothing about any of that!" Lissette exclaimed. "We aren't from this part of society."

"You're such a lucky young witch, Lissette," Daphne began, "Neither does anyone else. The Dark Lord's depravity had the effect of canceling all the society balls. The Ministry New Year and a few charities carried on, but this will be the first time one of the titles has thrown a ball in thirty years. Harry, paying respects to the old ways, you see. Who, by the way, doesn't come from this part of society either."

Thus the Potters set about keeping the clan focused on school and a fun family side-project while Harry was watching various Ministry entities systematically take apart, or at least keep in check, the structure of the Jacques Lafleur organization.

Harry took three days of leave near the end of August for some personal travel.

"I need to visit my master," Harry said when Daphne asked where he was off to.

"Cebu?" she wanted to know.

"Yes," Harry said.

"He was always your teacher," said Daphne. "This is Francisco?"

"Yes," said Harry. He was starting to focus, Daphne could see. He was hoarding energy, looking the way he had when Grindelwald quite foolishly brought him to his base in France, where he was keeping Harry's platinum lynx in a cage. He was getting the same look now, the one the lynx saw when the brigadier popped out of the portal.

"Now he's your master? You need to consult?"

Harry stared straight ahead.

"I think it's time," he said, finally.

Harry returned from Cebu tanned and refreshed. Daphne thought he might have lost a few pounds. He seemed tighter, denser, and his step had a definite spring to it.

Harry, Daphne and Millicent got together in Harry's study over tea and cakes and talked about the coming school term. Everyone had been thinking about security since the dimensions of the Lafleur problem began to emerge during the previous year. They agreed on a course of action and Harry scheduled a mandatory meeting the following day. Harry chose The Mill, under the arbor, because he didn't want the atmosphere to be too Council-of-War-like.

The elves provided cake, pumpkin juice and orange-mango sorbet, appropriate for a back-to-school party. There was a serious context for it all, though, that could not be avoided.

"Everyone," Harry said, standing up, "We need to talk over a few things. Go ahead and enjoy the cake and sorbet, but please listen. There are some security concerns this year that we didn't have last year. Your Aunt Millicent and the faculty are used to managing those so you don't have to. That isn't going to change. Just be aware that we have some internal friction in the magical community. Attitudes might be affected. Please, everyone, look out for each other."

"Anything in particular? What are we looking for?" Iolanthe asked.

"That is hard to say," Harry replied. "The Jacques Lafleur organization is undergoing some stress. Their activities have come to the attention of the ministry and the aurors and prosecutors are doing their jobs. You're all very well-known members of a family with close ties to the ministry. Let's hope your schoolmates separate you from any negative feelings they may have picked up about me or the minister or my employers past or present. If not, don't keep it to yourself. You have each other, you have owls, and if it's a real emergency, you have your Aunt Millicent."

The students looked around the table. This was serious. Harry had never before convened a family meeting to raise the issue of security at Hogwarts. He'd never needed to invoke Aunt Millicent, either.

"What about the ball?" James asked.

"We're going right ahead with the planning," Tracey said. "Our assumption is the unrest will be over and done with by Samhain so we'll have even more to be happy about."

Iolanthe grinned as she restrained herself from letting out the 'YES-S-S' that struggled against her. Even though she wasn't quite fifteen, the usual minimum age for young witches to attend formal evening events, Iolanthe had negotiated responsibility for light duties from Tracey that earned her a place in ball administration, and thus justification for her presence.

When it was time to return to Hogwarts, Harry and Tracey again accompanied the Potter-Black delegation to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, Daphne staying at Potter Manor with Evans and Davis. Lissette had been lying low since she'd gotten away from her untenable home life and attached herself to Iolanthe. As a result, she'd had no contact with contemporaries outside of Iolanthe and her circle. Some of the older Slytherin witches on the platform nodded to her as the Potters walked by, one even holding out a hand, which Lissette took and held for a moment.

"Iolanthe, I don't want to hear any 'Poor Lissette' from anyone," she said, just for Iolanthe.

"Merlin, no," said Iolanthe. "You'll manage that, don't worry."

"Do you think so?" asked Lissette.

"Lissette, look what has happened since June," Iolanthe said, slipping her arm under Lissette's. "You took your destiny in your own hands, ditched Alnmouth for London, took righteous vengeance on your abuser by means of a perfectly-executed transfiguration, became a water sprite, discovered a grotto…"

"That is quite a lot," Lissette admitted.

"You're one kick-ass witch," Iolanthe concluded.

"Not sure exactly what that means…" said Lissette.

"Neither am I, one-hundred percent," confided Iolanthe. "I got it from Mother. She's a kick-ass witch, we can agree, so she can be our role model. You don't have to hang around with us. Go visit with the upper classes. Dominate. You're a demi-goddess."

Lissette peeled off and joined a group of seventh-year witches. Iolanthe soon caught up with Rose and Scorpius who were talking to Tracey and Harry. They formed their usual pod, with Zelda between Iolanthe and Rose. A steady parade of students diverted from their paths to come over and greet everyone. Iolanthe and Rose kissed and hugged the witches, many of whom they'd seen at Black Picnic at the end of June.

Zelda wore her celebrity well. The Gryffindors who came by nearly always asked if she was ready for quidditch season, to which Zelda answered something modestly gracious like, "Hope so, thanks for asking," or "Guess we're about to find out."

More than one witch's jaw dropped when Iolanthe asked, "Do you know our cousin, Tracey Davis?"

Tracey invariably turned on the blinding smile and extended her perfect hand with its perfect manicure and said, "So happy to meet you. Have a wonderful year!"

The comments, along the lines of, "I didn't know you were related to Tracey Davis! She's so elegant, so beautiful. Oh, there was the best photo of her in Witch Weekly…," continued for Iolanthe and, to a slightly lesser degree, Scorpius and Rose, for the rest of the week.

It was nearly time for the train to depart when Blaise arrived on the platform. Zelda unwrapped her own dazzling smile and threw herself into Blaise' embrace.

"You got here, you got here!" she exclaimed.

"Uh-huh," said Blaise. "I thought I was going to be late, and then I'd have to blame it on Seamus and Dean. That wouldn't have been much of an excuse, though, would it?"

"What…," Tracey started, but Zelda cut her off.

"Why would you blame Seamus and Dean?"

"Oh, because it would have been their fault, since I had to go by their place and pick up a birthday present," Blaise said, handing over a giftwrapped package.

"Uh, it's a little early," Zelda said, refraining from ripping it open.

"Not very. Go ahead and open it," Blaise said, "You can start using it before your birthday."

The wrapping paper was shredded in no time and Zelda opened the box, which held monogrammed parchment sheets and envelopes.

"I ordered it weeks ago so of course they insisted it would be ready just a few minutes before the Hogwarts Express has to leave," Blaise said. "You can use it however you like, but these are for letters, and these little ones are for short notes or a message you have to take down for someone, and the envelopes are envelopes…"

"Blaise!" Tracey said. "That is really thoughtful. Just what you need, Zelda, for a little gracious correspondence."

"Well, of course, her mother is Tracey Davis, so the standard is pretty high," Blaise said.

"Thanks, Dad," Zelda said, reaching out with her free arm to give Blaise a hug. "I'm going to write to Great-grandmother and tell her I've arrived."

"Happy Birthday!" went around the group. Harry looked at the platform clock and decided it was time.

"Everyone—have a wonderful fall term," he managed, before he choked up.

"Got everything? Trunks aboard?" Blaise asked, taking over the administration. Tracey held his upper arm with one hand while she reached out and pulled Zelda close with the other, planting noisy kisses on both cheeks.

"Bye-bye, love, see you on the pitch!" Tracey assured her before letting go.

The adults strolled down the platform, looking in the cabins for confirmation their students were, in fact, aboard the train. Ron and Hermione stood talking through an open window, which gave away Hugo's position, which led to the discovery of James, as well.

"Owl," said Harry.

"Great idea, Dad," said James, giving a thumbs-up.

"No charge," Harry affirmed.

The whistle sounded and the steam chuffed in the pistons as the drivers started to turn. Harry stepped back, waving mechanically, his mind going back in time as it always did. He wondered what this school year would bring, trying to discipline himself to contemplate something more positive than utter disaster. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was not conducive to positive thinking for Harry Potter.

Harry didn't think he was carrying a gloom-and-doom attitude around with him until Tracey spoke up at the post-Hogwarts-Express lunch at the Leaky Cauldron.

"It's all going to be fine, Harry, believe me," she said.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Just a bit of an expression, Harry," offered Blaise, "On your face. You're communicating sadness, melancholy, expectations of impending cataclysm…"

"Oh! I get it," Harry said. "It's that train. I met my first dementor on there."

"You met us on there," said Ron.

"Maybe that adds to the stress, Ron," Hermione said. "Harry's never said, one way or the other."

Hermione's layered humor was often very subtle, but her comment hit Harry's funny bone just right and he started to laugh. The atmosphere improved immediately and the conversation came easily.

"Great birthday present, Blaise," Harry said. "I may steal your idea."

"Feel free," said Blaise, "Only order well ahead of whatever date you want to take delivery. I would have thought since it was for Zelda Davis, I might get a little more performance. Her mother does a lot of business with them."

Tracey looked very pleased with herself.

"Well, if her mother had known of the order, she would have been happy to apply a little leverage," Tracey said.

"Which I will remember after this," Blaise said, adding, "I hope she likes using it. Maybe she'll write more often."

"Not arguing, Blaise, but she did kind of tear the place up last year, between quidditch and her classes," Tracey said.

"I know," sighed Blaise. "I still like her letters."

That seemed to be the case for everyone, and on that note the latest iteration of the post-Express lunch closed. Butterbeers were finished, the last chips chewed, and the parents went their separate ways. Harry had to get back to Potter Manor. Blaise and Tracey both had business matters to see to, Ron and Hermione were headed home.

Harry found all quiet and regular in Devon. Daphne was sitting on a blanket she had spread out on the green, watching Davis and Evans work at toddling. They weren't there quite yet, but it wouldn't be long and they'd be launched.

"How'd it go?" Daphne asked as Harry walked up.

"It's getting harder," said Harry. "It should be getting easier."

"Hmm…Wonder if there could be a journal article in that?" Daphne speculated.

Harry sat down and waited for one of his lads to notice him. Neither showed a great deal of interest, so Harry reached out, clearly provoking some distress in his baby prey.

"So there," he acknowledged. "How are the ball plans? Can we really do it?"

"It looks like we can," Daphne said. "In case you didn't know, you have made Tracey the happiest witch in Britain. She's planning a ball for a noble couple to be held at their country seat with the sovereign of a magical principality as the guest of honor. You're footing the bill, of course, but I think, if we provide a good time for all, Tracey will be seen as the premier event producer in Britain, maybe Ireland as well."

"Witch and wizard events," said Harry, clarifying.

"Witch and wizard, although, if she wanted to expand the firm, there is no reason a smart witch like her couldn't do a little high-end muggle work as well," Daphne said. "I think she enjoys her community, though, and the people she buys from, the bands she books. She gets to know everyone and she doesn't have to work with anyone she doesn't like."

"Blaise was there," Harry said. "Got to the platform about ten minutes before the train left. He'd ordered up some monogrammed stationery for Zelda's birthday. She was thrilled. Wants to write her Great-grandmother Davis."

"That Zelda," Daphne said. "Go Zelda Go!"

Harry eventually scooped up Evans and Davis so Daphne could fold the blanket and the family went inside to feed and change babies. The twins were dropping off when the owl flew in the nursery door.

"Window open somewhere?" Harry asked.

Daphne pointed up. She liked to keep windows open on the third floor so warm air could rise and exit.

"Zelda," Daphne said, seeing the monogram. "Daphne," she read.

"Everyone's here and doing fine. We have some interesting first years in Gryffindor. Like a Canadian. Tomorrow is my first advanced flying class with Madame Hooch. Love, Zelda."

"Got her priorities straight, at least," Harry said.

"Where are our notes from young James Greengrass? From Miss Iolanthe?" asked Daphne.

"Be along directly, I'd expect," Harry said. "Can I buy you dinner?"

The students settled into their Hogwarts routines, made new friends, and began exploring next-level subject matter. Scorpius was close to finishing his final edits of the updating and annotations to the Glott manuscript. He had found a publisher of magical books through the good offices of Professor Binns and the Headmistress, and publication was scheduled for soon after the first of the new year. There was some disagreement among the Hogwarts staff as to whether Professor Binns or the late Headmaster Phineas Nigellas Black was more tedious with their obsessive Scorpius Malfoy conversations.

Rose and Iolanthe, as fourth years, had some influence within the witches' study group, and Zelda was invited to join. She didn't find a partner right away, which didn't distress her very much because she was used to working with Rose and Iolanthe. They were tackling more difficult classes, however, and needed to focus for a few weeks until they could feel confident they had a good grasp of the fundamentals and were on their way to achieving their courses' objectives. By the first weekend of term, though, Zelda had settled in with Moira, a Hufflepuff who really did come from a rocky islet someplace between Scotland and Ireland.

Moira and Zelda were everything the other was not. Moira craved seafood and mist and hinted at banshee ancestry. She had rust-red hair and green eyes and little whiffs of driftwood fires, drying kelp and salt air seemed to follow in her wake. Zelda was London tailoring and the Black-Potter-Greengrass-Davis family network and unseemly delight in the story of her exotic conception in Speyside, Tobago. Moira was very skeptical of what she called 'the Sassenach.' Zelda didn't know what those were but decided she must not be one or Moira wouldn't be having anything to do with her. Moira's mother, beyond the Ministry's reach at their home on the rocky islet, had taught her a lot of practical magic before she came to Hogwarts. Moira needed to focus on books of magical history and theory to get an understanding of the principles behind the magic she had been doing for as long as she could remember. Zelda had a patchy magical grounding as well. She was a prodigy as a young flyer. She had grown up helping in her parents' magical businesses. She understood them and every magical business they connected with. She used her own accounts at Seamus and Dean's, the Leaky Cauldron and Morgan le Fay's. Zelda needed history, theory, arithmancy and runes.

Moira knew runes but struggled with herbology.

"Oh," Zelda said when she learned of Moira's difficulties. "My cousin is a Hufflepuff—James? Potter? He knows plants."

"James Potter is a genius," Moira nearly gasped, her voice low because they were in the library. "He's your cousin?"

"Yes," Zelda whispered back. "Our mothers are first cousins. We grew up together. Everything I know about plants I picked up from him. Tell him I told you to ask him. He's a true Hufflepuff, he lives to help other people."

Thus began a series of conversations over dinner. By the end of the week, Moira didn't have to ask, "Is this seat taken?" She just sat down across from James and they got started. James soon expected to get some herbology homework to check in exchange for the sheets he had ready to hand back. He usually had a little piece of parchment with two or three points he'd picked out for dinner conversation topics. James had a knack for spotting areas where Moira had a knowledge gap to fill. He worked the conversation toward those, being careful to let the subject matter emerge naturally, preferably raised by Moira herself.

"What beast have you sicced on my brother, Ms. Davis?" Iolanthe asked one evening as they entered the Great Hall.

"I didn't!" Zelda protested. "She needs help with herbology. They're both Hufflepuffs so I mentioned James knows plants. It's strictly scholarly."

Zelda finished with a distinct tone of self-approval.

"Don't be too obvious, but if you find out she's a banshee, will you tell us?" Rose whispered.

"Here," Iolanthe said, reaching into the pocket of her robe, coming out with a small box tied up in red and gold ribbon. "Happy Birthday."

"Is this…?" Zelda asked, recognizing the box.

"Open it and see for yourself," answered Iolanthe.

Zelda opened the box and looked at the brooch inside. She threw her arms around Iolanthe and went through a string of 'Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you.'

"Can I wear it?" Zelda asked.

"It's not uniform, so in theory you could lose points," said Iolanthe, looking at Rose for comment. Rose nodded.

"We'll get you some of the Hogwarts tartan and you can wear it like Iolanthe," Rose said. "She'll show you. You'll be devastating."

Rose and Zelda headed for the Gryffindors and Iolanthe stood, debating with herself whether to deliver James' present or leave him alone. Her plan had been to give both of the brooches at once. Their birthdays were so close delivering one present gave away the surprise for the second. Iolanthe made a decision and walked over to the Hufflepuffs.

The Hufflepuff Blacks were welcoming, as always. Iolanthe worked her way up the aisle with hugs and hand squeezing. The foreshadowing could have made Iolanthe's arrival at James' shoulder anti-climactic had she been anyone else.

"Iolanthe," James offered.

"James Greengrass," returned Iolanthe. "You have an herbology seminar, I see."

Iolanthe indicated the parchment between Moira and James.

"Iolanthe, this is Moira," James said. "She does runes. She's also developing an interest in herbology."

"Delighted," Iolanthe said as she reached across the table.

"The honor is mine," said Moira, her green eyes locked on Iolanthe's blue-gray pair as she held Iolanthe's fingertips gently between her thumb and forefinger.

Iolanthe broke away first.

"Happy birthday, sweetie," Iolanthe said, putting James' box on his plate, wrapping her arm around his neck and kissing the messy hair atop his head more or less simultaneously. "You get the same thing I got for Zelda, so you both get them today."

James untied the black and yellow ribbon and opened the box.

"Wow," he said, holding the box out so Moira could see the brooch. "That's extraordinary. Really special. Thank-you!"

James stood up to give Iolanthe a proper hug. James had handed the box to Moira when he stood, and she sat still, looking back and forth between the brooch and the spectacle of James who appeared to be attempting to squeeze the life from the platinum-haired Slytherin. Moira stood up as James let Iolanthe go.

"This is quite lovely," she said, "Nice meeting you."

"Same," said Iolanthe. Neither one of them sounded very sincere.

"That was…" Moira began when they had both sat back down.

"My sister, Iolanthe," James said.

"I saw her around last year, of course," Moira said. "I never met her, though. Somehow I didn't connect her with you. She seems nice."

"I guess so," James said. "Haven't really thought about it. She's just always been there."

"Where did this come from?" Moira asked, handing James the box.

"She saw one in the British Museum," James began. "They used a photo of the brooch for one of those post cards they sell in the gift shop. Iolanthe bought a card, took it to a family friend in the business and they copied it. Have you ever seen one before?"

Moira looked directly into James' eyes, long enough for James to begin thinking his idle chatter had caused offense somehow.

"I've got one," she said, finally. "An original."

"The one in the museum is eight…" James began.

"Nine hundred years old," Moira corrected him while still staring at James.

"How…," James tried before Moira cut him off.

"It's Viking work," Moira said. "We're sea people, in the isles. Vikings, Celts, Phoenicians. Sea people sail around, fish and trade, get shipwrecked. Raid. Get raided. A gunner from the Armada is an ancestor of mine on my mother's side. The family legend has it he signed on to escape the stake and expected to spend his life at sea, concealing his magic from the officers. Then Drake did his work and my ancestor's captain tried to get away by sailing around Ireland. Our island got in the captain's way. My brooch was handed down to me. I have no idea how many generations.

"If you don't believe me, I'll go sit somewhere else," Moira said. She stopped talking and held his eyes while she waited patiently for James' decision.

It would not be accurate to state that James and Moira formed a romantic attachment right then, as both were much too immature for the term to apply. Afterwards they did take meals together, though, no longer just dinner. The herbology seminars continued for months because Moira really did need the kind of help James could provide. Over time that changed as Moira caught up and developed her own interest in plants.

As it was, James made the best possible decision at dinner that night, casting his lot with the magic Fabio insisted underlies everything else.

"I believe you," he said, "Of course I believe you. How could I not?"

September and October were intense and stressful for Iolanthe. She owled Tracey several times a week to keep current with Samhain ball planning. Daphne arranged for a day trip to London on the third Saturday in September so Iolanthe and Lissette could return for gown fittings.

Iolanthe was determined to maintain her class ranking and threw herself into her studies. She pestered Rose over and over for more drills whenever they were together outside of class. Rose thought she saw something unhealthy developing and demanded one evening just before dinner that Iolanthe accompany her on a walk to the lake.

"Iolanthe," Rose began, slipping her arm through Iolanthe's.

"Rose," answered Iolanthe.

"I worry about you," Rose said, "Or I'm starting to. Are you overdoing it?"

"What? A little hard work?" shot Iolanthe. "We eat hard work. That's what we do. Who am I talking to? Where's Rose Granger-Weasley?"

"Iolanthe, cosmic twin, listen to me, get mad if you want, but listen first and think about what I'm going to ask. Are you having fun?"

Iolanthe stopped walking, blinked, and started up again.

"Rose, this is what my mother, and your mother, and my Grandmother Greengrass, and Tracey all did," Iolanthe said. "I've just got a little more on my plate at the moment with the ball, and it's fourth year and everything is new right now…"

"You know how it is," Iolanthe continued, spluttering a bit. "To maintain my ranking I have to get outstanding in everything, every term. Otherwise I drop and no matter how hard I work I won't make up the ground. It becomes mathematics."

"Uh-huh," Rose agreed. "Are you your mother? Are conditions the same as when your mother, or grandmother went to Hogwarts? You didn't mention your Aunt Astoria. Did she drive herself to a breakdown?"

"No, of course not," Iolanthe snapped. "She couldn't, with her condition. She was smart though. Got good marks."

"What do you know about your Grandmother Potter?" Rose asked. "Top of her class. Head Girl. Still acknowledged one of the brightest of her generation. Your Grandmother Greengrass continues to revere her, even now. Do you suppose she was a grind?"

"NO!" Iolanthe said. "Everyone said she was fun. She had fun doing whatever she was doing."

"A lot like Astoria, as I recall," Rose said. "Scorpius is a bit more subdued, but he has that too. Are you having fun with me drilling you on the difference between gnat-wing and mosquito?"

"There is no difference in magical properties and the potioneer has to go by weight if substituting, not wing count, because of the size difference. No, I am not having fun," Iolanthe spat. She squinched her eyes shut but that didn't stop the tears, so she had to let Rose navigate for both of them.

"There is just so much happening all at once and I'm trying to get it all done and some of it is so hard…"

"Okay," Rose said. She pulled her arm out of Iolanthe's and reached around her friend's waist, making steering for two a whole lot easier. "Here's what we're going to do. You are going to start finding school fun again. I know how to make you do that, so that will be my job. You will stop fretting over marks. Your Aunt Astoria taught us counting isn't living, didn't she?"

"YES," Iolanthe howled. "Oh! Oh, Auntie, Auntie, I miss you so much!"

This brought more tears, lots more. Rose didn't worry about the quantity. If the tears were coming out, it was because they needed to come out. Rose walked them slowly down the path, happy to let Iolanthe have her moment with Astoria.

"You're going to live, just the way the divine Astoria taught us, Iolanthe. Your marks will be fine, and you'll end up Head Girl, the same as your Grandmother Lily," Rose assured her.

"I don't want to be Head Girl," Iolanthe protested, snuffling, "I want you to be Head Girl, just like Hermione. All I need is to be able to get the Head Girl to do what I want done."

"So wise, Iolanthe, so wise beyond your years," Rose said, pulling Iolanthe closer.

"Ohh…," Iolanthe sighed. "What has been happening to me? I have to regroup."

"You do," Rose agreed.

"Reorganize my time, reset my priorities" said Iolanthe.

"You will," Rose said, "When you see what needs to be done you just do it. You're Iolanthe Astoria Potter. You negotiate with dragons."

"Auntie went to all that trouble to show us…"

"You owe it to her to have fun, whatever you're doing. That is the only thing she expects from you. Counting is not living," Rose finished up.

They'd reached the shore of the lake and stood arm in arm, looking at the moon's reflection in the ripples.

"Oh, Rose, what am I going to do when Scorpius marries you and puts you up in his garret while he spends his days and nights scribbling?" Iolanthe asked.

"We stay away from the subjects of love and marriage and children and garrets…" Rose said.

"You talk around it?" Iolanthe asked.

"Yes," Rose answered.

"So you're both thinking about it," Iolanthe stated.

"Not a productive use of our time," Rose sighed. "That is how far we've gotten. We agree it is a waste of time, right now, to think about _that_. Otherwise, I suspect…"

Rose blew out her breath between puffed cheeks, letting the sentence hang.

"Understood," Iolanthe said. "I propose the following. I will endeavor to have fun again. We'll study together, lots. You will keep me sane. That will give your mind something to do besides thinking about your hormones."

They turned and started up the path back to the castle.

"Where'd you get ideas about hormones?" Rose asked.

"Mother is a healer," Iolanthe said with a shrug. "She finds hormones fascinating. Did you know hormones figure in several types of mental maladies? Yes, it's true-hormones really can drive you crazy."

It took a little patience on Iolanthe's part and reinforcement by Rose but Iolanthe did get her perspective back and by Samhain she felt balanced, alert and intellectually curious once again. Another way to put it would be to say that Iolanthe felt like her old self. Iolanthe didn't think of herself as a diarist but she did write up some personal reflections from time to time. She had the ability, it seemed, to look at herself the same way she would look at one of her magical creatures, calmly and objectively. Iolanthe wrote up a little summation of her experience with pressure, and an appreciation of the role Rose played in circling her back to a sustainable level of productivity.

Harry and Daphne's Samhain ball was planned as a respectful recognition of the old holiday combined with an appropriate fete to honor the visit of Caroline, the Serene of _l'Anse des Sorciers_. As such, it would not include the overnight party aspects of a traditional Samhain celebration. Still, time was blocked on the schedule for a drop-by to the woods where a parallel Samhain observance would be underway.

Even with expansion charms, Potter Manor could not accommodate a proper ball inside the house, so Tracey had worked with Seamus and Dean and made a deal for the use of two very large tents to be joined in the middle and equipped with charmed side-flaps. The double tent would be usable in warm or cool temperatures, rainy or dry.

The ball activities were to commence with a receiving line, dinner, a welcome from Daphne, remarks by Kingsley and Caroline, and a toast to Caroline from Harry, which Caroline would reciprocate, followed by dancing to a magical band. Tracey had organized all the elves of the Greengrass and Potter households into a smoothly-functioning hospitality machine. All except Trix, who would be busy upstairs doing hair and makeup for Kendra, Daphne, Tracey, Iolanthe and Lissette.

The ball was Friday night, so Iolanthe and Lissette were excused from the end of the last class on Thursday until Monday morning. Tracey was neck deep in last minute details when they arrived at Potter Manor on Thursday evening. Tracey broke off from working her checklists to take the two upstairs for tea and gown trials.

Even without their hair and makeup Tracey assured them both they were stunning. In fact, she wouldn't be surprised, once the photos appeared in Witch Weekly, if they had to hire professional representation to manage the mail and marriage proposals.

Iolanthe had not needed to get dressed up on a regular basis. Hogwarts robes, skirt, dress shirt and tie were her only regular break from her preferred uniform of jeans or heavy canvas skirt, sandals and a green, purple or khaki cotton shirt with patch pockets. She was completely unprepared for the beautiful ingenue with the shy smile looking back at her from the full-length mirror.

"Who is that beautiful girl?" Tracey asked the mirror as she looked over Iolanthe's shoulder.

Someone knocked on the door, and Lissette peeked out through the crack.

"Oh, Lady Daphne," she said, and opened the door.

Daphne walked in, smiling.

"Let's see," she said, making a little circling motion with her finger. Iolanthe turned right, back left, then all the way right again. Daphne had to step behind Iolanthe, just as Tracey had, and look at her beautiful daughter in the mirror.

"Lovely, let's…" Daphne said and put her hands flat on the sides of Iolanthe's face. She swept her hair back, twisted it a couple of times, and twirled the pony tail into bun a few inches above Iolanthe's nape. Daphne held her hand out and Tracey stood ready with a chop stick, which Daphne slid over one side of the bun, then took a second from Tracey and slid it in from the other side.

Daphne stepped back and Iolanthe caught her in the mirror, wiping her eyes.

"Mother…?" Iolanthe asked.

"No, nothing, dear," Daphne assured her. "I see your Aunt Astoria, that's all, and someone else I've never seen before. Your Grandmother Lily is looking back at you. Yes, she is, when your head is at just the right angle. Mother has a photo. I'll make sure we show it to you."

Tracey was nodding in agreement.

"See it?" Daphne asked.

"Uh-huh," said Tracey. "I never saw it before, either, but there she is. Oh, my, Auntie Kendra is going to melt."

"It'll do her good," Daphne assured Iolanthe, adding a little pat on the back. "Now, I know you love your sandals…"

"It's alright, I have to wear shoes at school," Iolanthe said.

"Oh, we can't have you in shoes in that gown," said Daphne. "Got them?"

Tracey handed her something wrapped in tissue paper. Daphne put it on the floor and folded the tissue back, exposing two exquisite slippers covered in the same emerald silk that dominated in Iolanthe's gown. Silver filigree accents reinforced stress points here and there, and a rosette of seed pearls decorated the tongue. Daphne motioned for Iolanthe to sit down.

"Sit carefully, dear," Daphne said, "Until you're sure there aren't any tight spots ready to split open. There should be enough give sewn in but one doesn't know until it's too late."

Daphne knelt before her daughter and slid her feet into the slippers.

"Too loose? Too tight? Pinching anywhere?" Daphne asked. Iolanthe nodded yes.

Daphne held Iolanthe's feet in one and hand and waved her wand over them.

"Better?"

"Perfect, like I'm barefoot," Iolanthe said. "What was that?"

"A little sizing charm, I'll show it to you girls later," Daphne said, then signaled for Iolanthe to stand up.

"Lissette?"

Daphne and Tracey repeated the process, pinning Lissette's hair up, then letting it down and pinning it back.

"Ever have your hair in a French braid?" Tracey asked, standing behind Lissette and looking at the mirror, then back at her head, then the mirror again.

Lissette paused before answering, then said, "I'll trust you to get it right."

"Simple enough," Daphne said. "Gown fits? Room to move? You can breathe? Okay, let's see about some slippers for our VIP."

Lissette's gown was black and white, and the slippers were as well, basic black silk with white piping following all the seams. Daphne knelt in front of Lissette as she had done with Iolanthe. When they agreed the slippers fit, Daphne stood and stepped back.

"Okay, up," Daphne said. Lissette stood and looked at herself in the mirror.

"Wow," she said.

"You look good," Tracey said. "I'd take you to the ball."

"Okay, tomorrow," Daphne began. "Hair, makeup, nails. Nails around noon, or right after lunch. Be careful. Avoid re-work. Trix will wash, dry and style hair starting at three. Put yourself in her hands. Don't think, just sit. She knows what she's doing. Makeup is last, just before you go on. You won't get a lot. You're young. A little pencil. Blush. What do you think, Tracey? Do they need lipstick?"

"I think gloss, all by itself," Tracey said. "They're so perfect they don't need the kind of tart-treatment we do. Try the gloss first. We can always decide to vamp it up."

"You're gorgeous, both of you," Daphne said. "You're going to make a statement. Maybe history. Okay, be careful getting out of those gowns. Each one undo the other's hooks. That way you're sure you didn't miss any."

Tracey stayed around to convey gown knowledge while Daphne went back downstairs.

"Tracey, how do you learn all of this stuff?" Iolanthe asked when Daphne had gone.

Tracey thought that was both profound and funny.

"First of all, I like it," Tracey began. "I'm drawn to anything that brings witches and wizards together. This is the first time anyone has thrown an old-holiday ball at a country seat since the Dark Lord, and that wizard downstairs who fitted up the Dark Lord is giving us witches back our witchly entertainments. It's a huge cultural milestone. What's more, I get to organize it for your family, and I've built a little business of my own around events, so tomorrow night I get my own footnote in magical history. For better or worse. That's quite an incentive for doing whatever it takes to get it right.

"Second, when Daphne and Astoria and I were girls, we didn't have the opportunity to do all the things young witches used to do to prepare for living according to the old magical ways. It was basically one long civil war from the time the Dark Lord started gathering his Death Eaters until Lord Harry and his allies put paid to it all. Dark against Light. I know it looks like Harry was destined to win, now, the implacable cycle of sunrise dispelling the night, but it didn't look like it at the time. All of us young witches had to keep our marzipan notions of balls and gowns and silk slippers pushed down inside because there sure weren't going to be a lot of big blowouts like this one to give us an outlet.

"And, I think that is the answer to your question, in short. I craved this, as a young witch, and the closest I come to satisfying that old craving is reading and observing and using all the stored-up knowledge to get witches and wizards together and make them feel really happy about being magical."

"Wow," Lissette said. "I never saw balls that way. Did you?"

"Huh-uh," answered Iolanthe with a little head shake. "I just thought they were Mother's annual fundraiser for St. Mungo's. This is…"

She couldn't find the words to finish the thought, so Tracey supplied some.

"The ancient fabric of magical life," said Tracey. "When witches and wizards stop for a moment and reach back, touching fingertips with the Old Ones, and Our Mother, on Her sacred days."


	50. Chapter 50

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Fifty

The Samhain Ball

James Potter climbed the final step and walked across the dusty wooden decking of the astronomy tower to the west-facing wall and peered out at the tomato-red sun. The orb was dim enough, and low enough, that he could look at it directly as he appreciated the western sky and the bands of violet, indigo and rose rising above the horizon. There weren't any stars visible in the west, but they would be coming out soon.

James had diverted from the Great Hall for a quick, unauthorized trip to the tower specifically to watch the sun set. He was acutely aware the Potters were all at the manor getting ready to throw a dandy party for Samhain, and he wasn't going to be part of it. James spent a lot of time in his greenhouse, or at Teddy Lupin's greenhouse, or in the Greengrass Manor gardens, but if he ranged widely on his own he was still strongly attached to his immediate family and was accustomed to participating in family events. If nothing else, he needed to stay current with the evolution of insider references so as not to miss any nuance in future conversations.

He could have conscripted Scorpius and Rose to come to his sunset-viewing but decided not to. They'd be having their own thoughts about Samhain at Potter Manor. When Iolanthe finagled her way to assisting with the ball in order to get around the fact that she wouldn't be fifteen for another month, it had been made clear to James, Scorpius and Rose that Iolanthe was a special case and they shouldn't get ideas about adopting her method. Scorpius would be feeling bad, as a historian, thought James. He was missing out on witnessing a unique event. There might be more balls for the old holidays in the future, but this was the first Potter ball of the new era, and next year would not be a Potter first.

Rose, of course, had regrets about not being present for Iolanthe's irregular and triumphant introduction to society. Not to worry though, because Rose had the discipline and intellectual capacity to keep those things in perspective. She wouldn't compartmentalize regrets or resentment in the interest of preserving her relationship with Iolanthe and the Potters, because those have a way of emerging without warning, at the worst possible moment, spoiling parties not yet planned. Rose would be delighted that Iolanthe was having a new adventure. Coming up to commiserate with James wouldn't do anyone any good.

The result was James stood alone at the west-facing opening in the astronomy tower wall, knowing a thirteen-year-old wouldn't be at the ball, even if he were at the manor, but knowing he wanted to be there anyway. Maybe he could have gone for a walk and happened across Plum, and the woodlanders, who would certainly be holding their own Samhain around the bonfire back in the woods.

James left the western opening and crossed the platform to the east. The moon was about half-risen, a great, blood-orange disc that soon would hang in the cloudless sky and light up the countryside from Hogsmeade to Land's End and everything in between. Then one would be able to climb the highest hill around and spot the bonfires, because the old ways had a habit of seeping into the culture, even among the muggles, and preserving themselves through hard times.

James stood there, trying to decide whether to skip dinner and go for a short surreptitious flight around the neighborhood and see how many bonfires he could find. There would be one in the middle of the main intersection in Hogsmeade, of course, as there was every year. There were bound to be more. Alternatively, James thought it might be wiser to go down and be seen at dinner, then slip back up for a little practical astronomy.

The creaking of the stair gave Moira away. She was walking slowly and quietly toward the west-facing opening when James cleared his throat.

"Hmm-HMM?"

Moira spun around.

"James!" she said, "You frightened me!"

"Not on purpose," James said. "I tried to be unthreatening. Couldn't let you get any closer to that opening. What are you doing up here?"

"Everyone was getting to their seats for dinner and I couldn't find you. Someone said they'd seen you heading this direction," Moira said. "There's not very much around here that would attract you besides this view."

"Too right," James said, betraying a little enthusiasm for Moira's excellent deduction. "Come on over and look then maybe we should get something to eat. It's a long time before breakfast."

By the time they got back to the Great Hall their usual choice of seats was gone, so they settled at the furthest end of the populated Hufflepuff seating. They didn't have any herbology papers on which to focus, a circumstance that forced them to have the first unprompted conversation in the six weeks of their acquaintance.

"Anything special?" Moira asked as she passed the mashed potatoes across the table. "Like, reasons?"

"Samhain," said James as he put a heap of potatoes on his plate. "Looking for bonfires. Kind of silly of me, isn't it?"

"Not really," Moira said. "Bonfires are fine with me. We can't do very big ones on the island. We don't have very many trees. Driftwood tends to get used for something, unless it comes just before Samhain."

"That's something I never thought of," James said. "We've got woods. There is a community of woodlanders and Dad has a deal with them. You observe Samhain on the island?"

"We're islanders, James, not ignorant," Moira advised him. "If we don't keep the traditions how will the next generation know them? What will they do if the catch drops? Suppose the seed drowned from too much rain. We can't be reduced to sitting on the bench like muggles saying we wish it would stop raining. We need to find out what's wrong. What do you do when you've had too much rain and the seed drowns?"

"Ah," James tried. He knew life was a lot different in the isles. A lot. A few weeks of conversations with Moira had shown him how large the gap was between Moira's family's material condition and his own. He tried to think of a way to let the existence of his greenhouse emerge without sounding like a rich braggart from Devon.

Harry hadn't preached modesty to James and Iolanthe. He'd let them watch and observe while he'd chosen appropriate moments for a thousand little chats about gratitude and modesty and sensitivity to others' feelings. James knew most people didn't have multiple houses and well-known parents who were pillars of society and grandparents who had a lake they could take out and put away as needed. James had seen more than enough of London to understand discrepancies in wealth, in both the muggle and magical worlds.

What's more, he never forgot Harry's advice to refrain from discussing money, or lands, or things, if he didn't know the other person's perspective. Moira had revealed enough of herself for him to feel her pride in being from the isles, for being one of the sea people. He also knew he had not known Moira nearly long enough to be tired of her. Moira had no artifice about her. She could be terse, or blunt, and do things like give him a simple yes or no proposition. If he didn't believe her, to take one example, she would go find another place to sit. A young man knew where he stood with Moira, and James liked that.

He wouldn't have phrased it just so, he possessed neither the concepts nor the understanding, but James' estimation of Moira was growing a little with each encounter. He liked the way their interactions felt, and he wanted them to go on mapping the dimensions of their mutual interest. He thought Moira wanted that, too, although James' experience with girls was so scant he could not have provided facts to justify his assumption.

"The thing is," James continued, choosing his words with great care, "Excessive rain hasn't been a problem. I haven't had to deal with it. If it did become, I suppose I'd ask my grandfather. He's a landscaper."

James was looking down at his plate, mashed potatoes and a piece of battered deep-fried cod. His face felt hot. Daphne had always counseled Iolanthe and James that half the truth is a whole lie, but James thought he was justified in keeping his greenhouse to himself for a little while longer until he was sure he wouldn't drive Moira away by revealing it.

Moira sat on her side, staring at James with her green eyes, chewing a piece of poached salmon. She swallowed and speared a section of steamed carrot with her fork, pausing with it on its way to her mouth.

"Do you like mashed potatoes with fried cod?" she asked.

"Not really," James said. "I wasn't thinking 'cod' when the bowl of potatoes came around."

"Did you have mashed potatoes on your plate, and then chose cod so I'd see you eating fish?" Moira asked. "Because you know I really like fish? Were you not going to add fries when you already had potatoes?"

"Something like that, apparently," James said. "You know, it's actually kind of hard to understand."

"James Greengrass Potter," Moira said as she put down her fork. "I know your greenhouse keeps the rain off your plants. I know who Fabio Greengrass is, and Harry Potter, and Daphne Potter. Can you not be a phony, at least with me? I've done man's work on fishing boats, James, and I learned friendship follows establishing we can count on our crewmates. NOT the other way 'round."

"Of course," James said, sounding well-chastened. "It won't happen again."

"What do you do when there's too much rain and the seeds drown, or the young plants suffer?" Moira asked.

"Our beds and fields are laid out to let gravity manage the drainage so we don't have to scramble. We keep the ditches clear and make sure the water can get to the little seeps and the streams and get on down to the Dart. Most years that's enough."

"Brilliant," Moira said. "Very crafty. Was that hard? Being honest is the first step in trust. I don't care if your parents are successful. There's no need to edit to spare my feelings. It will hurt worse if you do, because that tells me you think I'm weak, too weak for the truth. Then we definitely won't be friends."

Moira went back to spearing sections of steamed carrots, popping them in her mouth and chewing. James heard something in her words he had been dying to hear.

"Are we?" James asked. "Friends?"

Moira took the time to swallow what she had in her mouth before speaking.

"No," she said. "Not yet, but we might be, soon, if neither one of us screws it up."

James nodded.

"Logical enough," he said. "Are we close enough to go back to the astronomy tower after dinner?"

Moira looked across the table one more time.

"You aren't going to try to kiss me, or put your hands all over me, or push me up against the wall and hold me there, are you?" she asked. "Because I'm not going if that's what you want."

"NO!" James said. It was a whisper, technically, but quite a few Hufflepuffs had to stop talking and eating to look down the table at them. Moira and James concentrated on their food. When the Hufflepuffs returned their attention to their meals they could talk some more.

"No, that's not it," muttered James. "To look for bonfires."

"Mmm-hm," said Moira. "All right. Do you have astronomy homework?"

"No," James said. "No astronomy this term."

"Me neither," said Moira. "Neither of us has a justification for being in the astronomy tower after dark. Ooh, it's so dangerous, high up and dark. A careless student could fall. Ten points from Hufflepuff."

Something disparaging lurked inside that statement. James sensed it, was sure of it but didn't know what it was.

"How about this?" James tried once more. "We each write a note to someone at home, then we go up to the owlery to mail it. We just take as long as we like sending the mail. No broken rules there that I can see."

Moira thought it over.

"Fifteen minutes after we leave here, then fifteen minutes in the owlery," she proposed. "That ought to be more than enough time to spot the bonfires."

That was the plan, although to execute they needed to be patient until enough Hufflepuffs were headed out of the great hall for them to blend.

James wrote his note and took some owl treats to the owlery and occupied himself chatting up the owls while waiting for Moira.

"Hey, were you expecting Iolanthe?" James asked as he chatted up the owls.

"Iolanthe is at the house in Devon," James said, "So, she won't be coming tonight, and you will have to make do with me. Here, have a piece of sausage…"

Moira walked in slowly and quietly so as not to break up the party. She stood just beyond the doorway and let James discover her.

"Hullo!" James called. "You've come to mail a note."

"Any bonfires?" Moira asked.

"Just two, both over that way," James answered, handing out his last few treats. He walked to the east side window opening and hopped up.

"James, be careful!" Moira ordered.

"Don't worry," James said. Moira jumped up beside him.

James spoke slowly and calmly.

"Moira, I think you should step down."

"Do you?" asked Moira.

"Yes," James tried. "Please."

"Gosh, the big guns," Moira said. "James Potter asked me to do something, complete with a 'Please.'"

"Moira, I must be honest," James began.

"I know," said Moira.

"I won't get hurt if I fall because…" James said, then faltered. "Because…you're going to think I'm a freak. I don't need a broom."

"Lovely, James," said Moira. "And I don't think you're a freak. Thank you for your honesty."

"You should be put off," James said. "We don't talk about it outside the family these days because of the negative reactions. Voldemort, of course. He figured it out and taught some of his close followers. That is not considered a good portent for the son of Harry Potter."

"Fine," Moira said, "The rumors are true. I'm a banshee. I don't need a broom either. If you want to stop seeing me that's okay. People have cut me off before because of it. There, we've both been honest inside of one minute."

"Oh," James said. Moira waited.

"Oh," he said again. "Banshee. Hmm…"

"How do you become a banshee at twelve?" He made it sound like he wanted to get started on his application.

"No one knows," Moira said, sounding put out. "I didn't ask for it. I just got up one morning feeling different, started developing little traits."

"Do you howl, like at the moon?" James asked.

"No," Moira answered. "We wail. We don't howl."

"Wow, that is impressive," James said. "Long flowing gowns? Like a dementor?"

"I understand if you don't want to be friends," Moira said. "I can't say I'm used to it. When people learn about it and back away it's not pleasant. Banshees need social contact like everyone else. Are you going or staying?"

"Staying," James said without any hesitation. "Except I'm going to do a little flying, just to clear out the congestion."

James stepped off the parapet and dropped like a sack of cement, stabilized, flew back up to Moira's level and started flying circles around the tower. After a few laps he stabilized in a cross-legged sitting position about ten yards out.

"Not too weird for you?" James asked.

"No," answered Moira, kind of snippy and disgusted. She stepped off the owlery tower and plunged into deep darkness between two gables that protruded from the side of the castle. James started to become worried when she didn't return. He needn't have, though, because she did come back and assumed the same position six feet in front of James.

The brilliant moonlight cast everything in black, white and shades of gray, so it looked to James like Moira's Hogwarts robe was a long black gown hanging down from her crossed legs.

"Who taught you to fly?" Moira asked.

"I've always flown," James said. "The children always had the little restricted brooms to play with so my earliest memories concern flying. Dad let us fly around inside. When we got a little older there were some old brooms around that he didn't think would hurt us so Zelda started flying those when we were six or seven. Hugo and I had to keep up, of course. Then one day I just got off and hung there in the air. Pretty simple."

"That doesn't sound simple," Moira said. She stopped talking and sat there appraising James. When she spoke it sounded to James like a pronouncement.

"You've been given a gift. You're obligated."

"Tell me about banshees," James said. "That sounds like a gift. Tonight's Samhain. Will you be going out to wail?"

"No, and don't joke around," Moira cautioned. "Have you ever mourned for someone? Do you know that feeling?"

James was brought up short by Moira's question, because of course he had mourned for his beloved aunt. He'd built her pyre, along with his father and the outdoor elves, a great pile of seasoned hardwood he'd laid and pulled apart and relaid to make it the best, most stable pyre possible to give Astoria the perfect exit from this world. He'd thought that was how he had worked out his mourning, but Moira's question brought all the sadness and loss back, stronger than ever. James realized he hadn't worked anything out, nothing at all.

"Oh, Auntie, Auntie, Auntie," he sighed as the tears began. Moira watched James carefully for signs he was losing his flying abilities but all he did was wobble a little bit. Moira kept the volume very low and began to wail. She stopped now and then, to check on James.

The moans were like nothing James had ever heard. He wasn't even sure he was hearing moans. His grief came out from very deep inside him and the moan seemed to be part of it, like an emotion one could hear. James thought of all the good times he'd had with Iolanthe and the Malfoys, sitting on Auntie's lap while young Iolanthe tried to read aloud from the Odyssey, which should have been excruciating for an active six year old but was as close to Heaven as James had ever experienced.

"James?"

"Uh-huh," he answered.

"Are you feeling better?"

"I do, how did you know?" James asked.

Moira maneuvered her hand inside the bell sleeve of her robe and pulled the cloth snug over her hand, using it to dab at the last tears running down James' cheeks.

"I'm a banshee," she reminded him. "Do you see what banshees can do for people in pain? Mourning?"

"I do," James said. "I feel so much better now. We really miss our aunt."

"I know," Moira said.

"It just wouldn't go away, all last year," James continued.

"It will do that," said Moira. "Do you think banshees should be burned at the stake or banished from the community and forced to live alone in the fens or out on the moor without even a hut of their own?"

"NO!" James shouted. "You helped me a lot. I really appreciate it."

"So you'll just keep this to yourself? I don't expect you to lie, it's just less complicated."

James looked at Moira.

"And you don't think I'm some kind of freak?"

"No," said Moira. "You've got a gift. I can see your heart, just a little. When the time comes, you'll use it well."

Something about their confessions opened up the gates and let them talk. No one suggested they fly off, it just started, like two people chatting on a park bench might stand up and ramble without a break in the conversation. There were a surprising number of Samhain bonfires, many more than could have been attributed to wizards alone.

Humans are terrestrials and their senses and instincts are not oriented toward the speeds and distances of flyers. Thus it is not surprising that a twelve- and thirteen-year-old were quickly well beyond any reasonable boundary for a little extracurricular flying. James looked down and thought he could pick out some familiar features.

"Have you ever been to Liverpool?" he asked.

"I've seen it from a boat. That's a completely different perspective," Moira said.

"That's the stadium," James said, pointing. "There's a match."

"Are you taking me to Devon?" Moira asked.

"I wasn't," James said, telling the truth, "But we're close, you know, if you're flying. We could check in with the woodlanders. I could introduce you to Plum."

At Potter Manor the Potters had been working down Tracey's checklists since around noon. The reception line would be convened a few minutes before seven, the time given on the invitations for the start of the Samhain festivities. Kingsley and Caroline had arrived together a little after six. Tracey and the elves had provided drinks in the gallery/library. Fabio and Kendra joined in, along with Bill and Fleur Weasley, Teddy and Victoire. All of them had supporting roles and were awarded a little treat of some personal time with the Serene in recognition.

A series of pops sounded outside the front of the house, Tracey called game time and the party took their places. Iolanthe was assigned a post just ahead of the receiving line, staffing a table full of little bouquets of marigolds bound in a fancy rosette of black ribbon, the traditional colors of Samhain. Ladies were given a bouquet, and could carry it or Iolanthe would tap it with her wand and add a simple attachment charm the bouquet became a corsage, as the lady chose.

After the ladies got their bouquets, the guests proceeded down the hall to the receiving line. They were greeted by Daphne, Harry, Kingsley, Caroline, and Lissette, in that order. The senior herald from the Department of Protocol, who knew everyone, and something about everyone, stood behind Kingsley and Caroline, ready to supply a name or anything else the minister or guest of honor might require.

Caroline had told Tracey during planning to hold Lissette in reserve. Caroline had pulled Lissette aside during social time and asked her to be her partner in the line. As the ranking person in the line, Caroline knew from experience that she would be a choke point for gabby greeters without a person next to her. She sat down in a quiet corner with Lissette and described the drill.

"People will clump in front of Kingsley, and me, if we don't keep them moving. The way it works is the guests will get to Kingsley, and if they get stuck, he will hand them to me. Then they say so honored, drop names, want to talk about their last trip to _l'Anse,_ so you will let me say, "Do you know my cousin Lissette?"

"Then I grasp their hand with both of mine, remove my right hand, pass them to you with my left and break eye contact. Now they're yours. You say, 'So very pleased you could come.' Alright so far?"

"Yes, your…" Lissette got no further.

"Ma'am will do, between us," said Caroline. "Then one of the Delacours ought to be there and their job is to take delivery and escort the guest inside the tent, get them someone to talk to, make them happy, come back and do it again."

"I guess, yes Ma'am," said Lissette. "I've never done anything like this before."

"Always a first time," Caroline said. "You'll do just fine. You're looking very beautiful tonight, by the way. I meant to mention it first thing."

"I'll do a good job for you," Lissette said.

"Of course you will, and after tonight, you'll be able to do it for the next hundred years, if you stay interested," Caroline assured her. "Oh, one more thing, you're sure to get a curtsy or two from witches who don't know the fine points. Just be gracious and accept it. 'So very pleased you could come.' Got it?"

"So very pleased you could come," Lissette repeated.

Caroline and Lissette traded 'So very pleased you could come,' a few times before Caroline nodded. Caroline passed on one additional bit of official wisdom from her lifetime of experience.

"Ten minutes before you're needed on the line you should be standing up from the toilet. Make sure you have one in mind that you can count on. We don't need competition between the ladies at that point in the evening."

Fabio and Kendra were pre-staged in the tent so the first few guests would have a conversation waiting for them, thus getting rid of that awkward standing around stage. Tracey had gently drilled the families, even speaking French with Fleur and Victoire, the better to work her charms. The result was a fast, efficient receiving line, from Iolanthe's bouquets to Lissette, the pullers and the stroll to the tent.

Daphne decided early on that her evening dress would not include gloves. She was the hostess and claimed it was her prerogative. She was cagey about her decision with everyone except Tracey, to whom she admitted she was seizing the occasion of Samhain to let witchery see her as Lady Black. There would be old witches present who would recognize Lady Black's signet. Challenges lay ahead. She'd be sending a subtle message, but one sure to be received by anyone with discernment, that Harry Potter had claimed his consort and wouldn't be fighting alone.

"It's odd," Tracey said when Daphne gave her reasons. "It's odd that I can love someone so much and yet find them so scary."

"You're talking about me?" Daphne asked.

"Of course," Tracey said. "Who else would I be talking about?"

"There's Harry," said Daphne.

"Harry I can keep a safe distance from," Tracey answered.

James was looking for Dartmouth, and beyond that the great black expanse of the Channel, as they flew south. It was surprisingly easy to spot Potter Manor in the dark, from above, due to the great tent that began at the patio and stretched across the back lawn toward the woods. From above it looked like a great, butter-yellow lozenge due to the interior lights.

"Over here," said James, indicating the side toward the woods, away from the house.

James led the way to where the main path entered the woods. He stopped and looked back at the tent, taking note of the Jack O'Lanterns that outlined a walking path from the tent's opening.

"I didn't know they were doing this," he said, pointing at a huge pumpkin sitting on the ground. "I wonder if I grew these? Plum ought to be this way."

James led the way into the woods.

"We'll see if we can find Plum, then chat him up, then get right back to Hogwarts."

"Do you know the way?" Moira asked.

"North?" teased James.

Plum, along with a significant number of woodland cronies was hanging around the bonfire. Plum greeted James effusively. James introduced Moira to the woodlanders, who crowded around to greet the exotic visiting witch from the isles.

"Will you stay for the bonfire? It won't be long," Plum assured the humans.

"We've got a few more minutes," James said as he looked at his watch, confident he and Moira could easily get back by lights out.

Inside, Iolanthe stood at her station, a shy smile on her face. Iolanthe didn't know if it was true or not, but she really did feel like she was glowing. Kendra hadn't said anything in the library, but the light in the hallway must have been just right, because when Iolanthe picked up the first marigold corsage and looked at Kendra, her grandmother had reached down and grabbed Fabio's hand, hard.

"Fabio," she began, but didn't finish.

Fabio knew exactly what Kendra meant. A little downward look and the half-smile was all Lily Evans, eerily, nearly forty years after her death. When she looked up, perhaps with a little toss of her head, chin lifted, Astoria appeared.

"There's some magic," Fabio assured Kendra, "Just for you."

Kendra accepted her bouquet.

"Watch your makeup," she said and leaned toward Iolanthe for a no-contact kiss. "We love you, dear. What a fine young witch. Fabio?"

"Oh, I concur, of course," Fabio said. "Now, we're going to work, Iolanthe, so we'll see you later."

Kendra and Fabio were the first couple to go through the line, a warmup, of sorts. Then the line went to work. Daphne hadn't expected the number of older witches who dropped into curtsies, nor the old wizards who reverted to some ancient tradition she'd missed growing up, took her hand and kissed it, lowering themselves all the way down until they had one knee on the floor. She used both of her hands to bring them back to full height.

"How nice to see you, have a wonderful Samhain," she'd say as she handed them on to Harry.

"Thank-you, Mother, thank-you," said the old wizards.

Lissette picked up her cues just as Caroline predicted. She listened carefully for the herald's mutterings to Kingsley and Caroline, so they got all the honorifics right—Lord, Lady, Ambassador, Chairman, Healer—and Lissette marveled at the herald's layered knowledge. Once in awhile he stepped around behind Caroline and gave Lissette something, like, "The parents of your housemate Claudia," and Lissette was bold enough to ask, "You're Claudia's parents? Delighted, so glad you could make it."

Caroline's century of service and experience showed up as she sensed a dropping-off of intensity in the receiving line. She took advantage of a little gap to lean over to Lissette.

"Almost done, if my count is anywhere close to accurate. Are you holding up?"

"I can make it," Lissette assured her. "You do this all the time? I don't know how."

"Well, dear, it's work," Caroline said. "The tools of statecraft, even if one is the head of a small place that isn't even on the map, are all based on contact. Hospitality, protocol, visits back and forth, it's all done to facilitate the business we have to do with each other. Once we approach it that way, everything else falls into place. Just another day at the office. You're doing it right now, and you're just a beginner."

Caroline handed another guest off to Lissette.

"So pleased you could come," she said as Fleur took the couple in hand.

The last guests passed through and the Potters led the VIPs into the tent. Everyone stood and listened to a little welcome from Daphne, after which Harry took the floor and seconded Daphne's greeting before he introduced Kingsley. The Minister went on for a bit longer mentioning two or three notable events in the history of relations between the magical administrations of Britain and _l'Anse des Sorciers,_ before concluding with a personal welcome to Caroline.

Caroline kept her remarks short, primarily thanking Daphne and Tracey for the fete and recognizing her cousin, Lissette Lestrange, for her valued help and assistance.

Dinner was appropriate for the time of year, with lots of squash and pumpkin dishes and the use of black and orange in every way imaginable. James and Moira, meanwhile, were enjoying the woodlanders' Samhain around the bonfire.

"We're going to have to go," James said, reluctant to spoil the fun but calculating they'd have to fly fast to get back to Hogwarts in time to avoid heavy penalties for being out of bounds.

Moira knew he was right but hated to leave. She found the woodlanders delightful. They didn't have fauns or bowtruckles either one on her island. Every time one of them did anything she learned something new. She'd even gotten a nice braid with accents of twig and moss, compliments of three friendly bowtruckles.

James ran into Iolanthe as he emerged from the woods, Moira just behind.

"James Greengrass, I'm going to put you to work lighting Jack O'Lanterns," declared Iolanthe. "Got your wand?"

"Oh, we have to get back," James said.

"A little late for that, my Hufflepuffs," said Iolanthe, flicking her wand and lighting up a few more Jack O'Lanterns.

"James Greengrass, and…friend," said Daphne as she walked up behind Iolanthe. "So pleased you could make it tonight. Have you eaten?"


	51. Chapter 51

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Fifty-One

Exploring Witchly Pleasures

"Mum!" James said, putting on his best homecoming smile. "May I introduce Moira Turley, who is a Hufflepuff from my year? We work on herbology together. Moira, this is my mother, Daphne Greengrass, and you know Iolanthe."

Daphne stepped over to Moira and extended her hand.

"Moira? Daphne," she said, "That is such a lovely name. And you're a Hufflepuff? Well, I'm sure we'll have lots to discuss, soon, but at the moment we're lighting Jack O'Lanterns so our guests can find the path to the bonfire just there. I suppose James brought you down to meet the woodlanders on Samhain? Yes, that would be James. You'll be staying here with me for just a few minutes while the party pays its respects. James, that's your father coming out of the tent with the Serene, so why don't you throw yourself upon his mercy while Iolanthe and I get the rest of these Jack O'Lantern's lit?"

She'd all but said, "Done," so James took it as agreed that soon he would be explaining his presence to his father. He looked at Moira and tried to send silent assurances that everything would be fine. Moira didn't appear to be overly concerned, thought James. In fact, she drew her wand and walked off down the path with Daphne and Iolanthe as if she'd been assigned lighting duties in Tracey's master plan.

James wrote Moira's comfort with their situation off to some kind of witchery to which he was not party and walked up the path to meet Harry, and for all he knew, learn his fate.

"James," Harry said, "Our guest of honor tonight, her Serene, Madame, you remember our son, James?"

"Yes, of course, delighted Master James," Caroline said. "You've come all this way for the Samhain ball? What a fine young wizard, Lord Harry."

"Yes," Harry said, briefly looking sideways at James, "Highly skilled, generally responsible. His mother and I are pleased with him, overall."

James had no idea what one does at thirteen when it's been discovered one has left campus without permission and flown several hundred miles in the dark on Samhain, so he fell in with Kingsley and Lissette, who were just behind Harry and Caroline, and joined the party.

Kingsley had met Plum on a number of occasions, but Caroline hadn't, so Harry made introductions. Plum called the woodlanders to order and made a short speech recognizing Caroline and the minister, then welcomed them and several hundred party guests to the woods on the occasion of Samhain. That earned him a huge round of applause followed by 'Hear-hear' and some loosing of wand pyrotechnics as the holiday spirit began to assert itself.

Fabio and Kendra appeared from somewhere and flanked James.

"Harry asked us if we could look after you for just a few minutes, dear," Kendra said.

"Grandmother! Grandfather!" James said. "Greetings on Samhain!"

"Compliments of the season," Fabio said as he extended his hand. He lowered his voice. "Adventuring?"

"I guess so," James admitted. "Accidentally. We were just flying around, talking, and ended up here."

James seemed as puzzled as everyone else.

"Excellent, those are the best kind."

Kendra stared at Fabio, but other than a slight pursing of the lips she didn't give any indication she meant to be critical.

The party in the woods continued around the woodlanders' bonfire. Iolanthe looked at home, standing in her gown next to Plum with one arm around his shoulders, laughing out loud, arguing with the bowtruckles who wanted to undo Trix' beautiful work and turn their hands to braiding. A little murmur started to run around the periphery, witches' voices.

"Good-night, Mother!" followed by repressed cackles. The murmur grew in volume. Someone sent a huge shower of sparks up into the treetops causing an outbreak of 'Ooooo' and 'Ahhhh' as they drifted down giving out faint hissing sounds.

"Better give everyone a 'Last call for drinks before dinner' Harry," said Daphne as she eased up next to him.

"Last call for drinks before dinner!" Harry dutifully announced.

"Drinks will be in the tent," Daphne noted, her lips next to Harry's ear.

"Drinks will be in the tent," said Harry as he led the way back on the pumpkin-lined path.

"Say, James, we might as well get you a butterbeer," said Fabio said to James, clapping him on the shoulder.

Someone produced a wooden chair, which was situated a safe distance back from the bonfire. It was rough in places, the logs not even stripped of bark, the uprights to which the back was fastened formed out of fresh pine boughs with their needles looking green and healthy. Sheaves of wheat were stood up on the ground around the chair. A crown of woven wheat straw was placed on the seat as if in wait for someone to wear it.

Moira looked around for James but he was missing, off getting his hide tanned by his father, she didn't doubt. She wondered where the other wizards had gone as it was plain the moonlit crowd was reduced to witches and woodlanders.

A fair number of older witches had remained in the tent, some to tend to ancient husbands, others simply declining the walk to the woods in the dark. The returned wizards sought out servers with trays of drinks and didn't think about the witches they'd abandoned because they saw witches here and there. The ones they'd come with must have been around somewhere. Probably in front of the mirror moving makeup around with wands. Meanwhile, there was just time for a firewhiskey and some good conversation before dinner.

"Post a watch, witches," ordered Kendra and a number of wands lit up as their owners drifted into the woods and formed a perimeter.

"Forty!" a voice called out, though no one asked a question, followed by "Forty-three!" then "Fifty!" from the witches around the bonfire. When the bidding reached "Eighty!" the whooping and cheering began.

"Bless you, Mother!" was heard. The count seemed stuck at eighty-nine for a moment until 'ninety' and 'ninety-four' reported and all the heads turned to Caroline.

"One hundred-" she offered to calls of "Wooo!"

"And…TWO!"

The catcalls and ribald comments stopped, replaced by applause and 'Bless you' and "More! More!"

There were no further bids so Caroline was escorted to the chair and surrounded by respectful witches, some already having trouble with weepy makeup, calling for blessings on Mother for all She does. The crown of woven wheat straw turned out to be for the surrogate who represented Mother on the throne.

"Mother Caroline," Daphne said after the roar died down. "It appears you will preside. Welcome to our Samhain. We have some maidens here."

"Let's raise them up then!" Caroline ordered. "Raise them up! Raise them up!" responded the witches. Those closest to Iolanthe, Lissette and Moira turned with drill-team coordination and precision and lifted them up overhead in the moonlight. There were plenty of hands to share the load and the young witches would remember years afterward that they never felt unsteady or unsafe in any way. The witches walked around and around the bonfire in counter-clockwise circles twirling the girls in the full moon's light.

"Here they are, Mother! Here are your daughters!" shouted some of the witches, while others called for blessings on the maidens and wishes for long life, a good man, wealth, babies and happiness. When the lifting up was over and the maidens had, by consensus, been presented properly, Daphne climbed onto a fallen log and raised her wand, sending a great shower of sparks up into the trees. The talk died out.

"Why are we here, witches?" she shouted.

"Mother made us all!" came the response. Caroline noticed Lissette standing beside her chair. She moved over and pulled Lissette down to sit beside her. The ritual had fallen into disuse in Britain during the bad years because the Death Eaters were sure to attack any unauthorized gatherings of magicals, just on principle. On the Continent, though, the observances went on as usual, and Caroline was well-versed and eager.

"There are a few differences but it's nearly the same," she muttered to Lissette. "Have you been to one of these before?"

"I think this is the first one of any size since before the wars," said Lissette.

"Oh, this is bound to mean very good fortune for you then," said Caroline, pulling Lissette a little closer.

Daphne still had some of the ritual to conclude.

"How did she make us?" she asked her congregation.

"She let Father shine some light!" laughed the witches. Hands moved to abdomens.

"He planted us in Mother with His light and she made us of her body!" Daphne said.

The responses got more varied. Some were sounding like they'd come from a place of ecstasy. Hands were patting now.

"In here, in here…" said the voices as some hands patted and patted.

"She carried us…" said Daphne.

"In here, in here…" came the response, mixed with sobs.

"For months and months," Daphne reminded the witches. "She made us from Herself."

Now the older witches who had celebrated Samhain for decades as girls, brides, wives and mothers, who had never expected to have the release of Samhain ever again in their lifetimes, started to feel Earth-spirit rising up from the floor of the woods, flowing through their feet and legs and viscera, out and up to the Moon and the heavens beyond.

"Oh yes! Oh yes!" the witches said, nodding in affirmation. Arms were raised above heads as the flow overcame gravity, going home through the witches. For the first time in thirty years the lord of a noble house had invited the witches of Britain, Ireland and Europe to the woods at his manor to pay their respects as their Mother prepared for sleep and to pray for her blessings when the wheel next turned and she woke from her slumbers.

"Yes, She made us, She made us all from Herself, and She carried us with Her, inside Her sacred place, wherever She went," preached Daphne.

"She pushed us OUT!" Daphne shouted.

"Oh, a good year is coming…," pronounced the witches.

"YES!" Daphne shouted. "She gave us life, and She pushed us out, and then…"

"She fed us!" shouted the witches.

"She feeds us from Herself!" Daphne spoke from her core, where she kept the knowledge she was raised up out of her Mother for just a short time, while it pleased Her to feed Daphne out of her own Life, until one day Daphne would lie down and return to sleep in Her sacred place until the End, THE End, of it all.

"She made us from Herself! She feeds us from Herself, she gives us Her Life!" preached Daphne.

The witches called back: "We are your Life, Mother, You are our life, thank-you thank-you thank-you!"

Witches began to moan, some raised their hands toward Daphne. Groups of two, three and four witches came together, embracing, sobbing, thanking Mother, blessing one another and everyone's families and babies and land and the souls of the beloved departed who were there in the woods sharing the celebration with the witches because it was Samhain.

"Thank-you, Mother, thank-you, thank-you," sounded from all over the crowd.

"She feeds us, we are Hers, and She is ours," Caroline said to Lissette.

Daphne turned to Tracey and smiled. She took one deep breath and hopped down from her log.

"Do me up?"

Tracey had Daphne presentable with very little wand work. They checked one another's gowns and makeup, confident from long practice they hadn't overlooked anything or left even a little mascara unrepaired. Daphne felt a bit drained and she let Tracey give her some support as they walked over to where Kendra stood with Iolanthe and Moira. They stepped around witches by ones, twos and threes, some curtsying, some reaching out to Daphne wanting to kiss her hand or simply touching her as she passed, some with just their fingertips and a few with their marigold bouquets.

"Did I get it right? I was petrified with the young witches in attendance that I'd mess it up," she asked Kendra.

"Perfect dear," Kendra said, "And even if it hadn't been, where are these crones going to find another one tonight?"

Witches began leaving the woods, farewells of "Good night, Mother," and "Come see us in the spring!" coming back as they walked along the path. Caroline let Lissette help her to her feet. She took off her straw crown and tossed it on the bonfire, acknowledging the polite applause from the witches nearby.

Tracey had organized a repair crew from trusted friends she knew she could count on. The team stood waiting along the path back to the tent. The wands disposed of any dirt or leaf mold on shoes or gowns, restored hair and makeup, and cast freshening charms that removed the smell of wood smoke. Returning witches were even offered a tiny vial of a lovely autumn scent perfume. The witches entered the tent by twos and threes, absolutely none the worse for wear.

"Oh! There you are!" was heard from around the tent as witches and wizards encountered their opposites.

Tracey had arranged for the herald to begin circulating with his ceremonial gong when the scheduled visit to the woodlanders' Samhain bonfire concluded, the key being the return of the stragglers, which, by the oddest chance, the returning witches fitted perfectly. Less than ten minutes after Daphne concluded the Samhain ritual, at least as celebrated by the witches of Devon, the guests were seated, Caroline and Kingsley arrived, and the serving commenced.

Kendra asked for a moment alone after the woods became quiet and sent Daphne, Iolanthe, Moira and Lissette ahead. Daphne didn't have a lot of time to think. The tables for dinner sat eight and each had an equal number of witches and wizards. Iolanthe and Lissette were each occupying a witch's seat at their tables and pulling them out to eat with James and Moira would unbalance dinner for the guests. Daphne didn't want to exclude her unexpected visitors, but Iolanthe was barely permissible because she was nearly fifteen and had been given a job by Tracey.

They could have improvised some formal wear for James and Moira to replace their school robes, but they really weren't going to fit in a formal, almost State dinner no matter how they were dressed. Daphne came to a decision.

"Moira, dear, will you come with me?" Daphne asked. Moira nodded and Daphne laid her arm across Moira's shoulders. They returned to the house, to the room just inside from the patio, and Daphne called for Periwinkle.

"A table and two chairs, please, Periwinkle, I think just about here," Daphne said as she indicated where she wanted things set up.

Periwinkle had the table and chairs placed in seconds. Daphne gestured to one of the chairs and pulled the other out for herself.

"Moira, I can't wait to hear your side of things, and James' because I'm sure they are going to be more fun and interesting than I can imagine right now, but we're about to start dinner in the tent and I just don't have time. Now, I'm going to bring James in here soon but first I have to tell you about what you saw in the woods," Daphne said, trying to edit for brevity.

"The Samhain ritual, according to the ways of the old witches, is just for us, and the creatures you saw in the woods. The wizards are welcome at some things, but not for that. Will you respect that?" she asked.

"I'm not supposed to tell James what we were doing, am I?" Moira asked.

"James won't bring it up, if you don't," Daphne said.

Moira thought for a moment, then broke out into a huge smile.

"Ohhhh…" Moira said. "Your wand…"

"Shhh!" said Daphne. "Of course. You don't have to lie. They won't think to ask."

"I swear," Moira said, raising her hand.

"Wonderful," said Daphne. "Now, we'll get you and James some food. You'll eat here because we don't have space in there. I'll have to let the school know we've got you here and we'll arrange a safe trip back for you just as soon as we can, but I've got the Minister for Magic and a sovereign at our head table and I must do that first. There won't be any further monkey business out of you two, will there? I'm counting on you to keep a clear head for a few more hours."

"No, Da…" Moira started, then stopped.

"That's it. Daphne," said Daphne. "Keep it simple. Daphne."

Daphne ordered two dinners for Moira and James from Periwinkle and left to fetch her son.

"I'll take it from here," Daphne informed Fabio as she slipped her arm under James' and steered him toward the door to the tent.

"Mum…" James tried but Daphne cut him off.

"No time right now, James, dear," she said. "I have to take control of your life from this moment until the dinner is over and our guests are away. You'll get all the time you need to explain yourself starting about two and one-half to three hours from now, Merlin willing. Enjoy your dinner, be a good host, chat up your friend, don't stray. Understand?"

"Yes, Mum," James said.

"Good," Daphne said, "Because, James, I really am counting on you. You didn't leave your father and me another choice."

After giving James an application of admonishment from her blue-gray eyes, Daphne found Harry in the tent and went directly to business.

"Did anyone contact Hogwarts?" she asked.

"I haven't," Harry said.

"Please do so," Daphne said. "Give the stag something to do. The headmistress needs to know they're here and safe. We'll get them back as soon as we have proper escorts."

Harry left for the green to carry out his instructions. His patronus loved having something to do and departed almost before Harry was finished with his message to Headmistress McGonagall. Harry went back inside and took his seat next to Caroline.

Dinner went well. Ambassadors listened for reportable bits of news, Fleur and Victoire charmed the French speakers, Ginny dazzled quidditch fans while on the fringes, a little discreet business was done. Daphne carried the conversation at her section, telling the story behind the original Lawrence Davis art throughout the house, the greenhouse down the hill and plans for the upcoming St. Mungo's Ball. Kingsley and Caroline left when the remarks were concluded. The tables and chairs were cleared away, lights in the tent dimmed and Tracey invited everyone to stay for dancing. Newly liberated from her hostess duties, Daphne walked directly to her extra-special guests.

"Ready?" she asked without any sort of prelude.

James looked at Moira, who looked back. Moira stood up and she and Daphne looked at James.

"I'm ready," he assured them, pushing back from the table.

Daphne closed the door of the library, sat down and looked at the travelers.

"You have the floor," she said.

Moira looked at James.

"It was me," said James.

Moira leaned back in her chair and waited.

"I went up to the Owlery to watch the moonrise. For some reason I ended up showing Moira I could fly without a broom, and took her to look for a few Samhain bonfires, and it just got out of hand," James said. "It was me. Nothing should happen to Moira. I apologize, Moira. I apologize, Mother."

Daphne didn't say anything. She just sat there staring at her son. She knew he could fly without a broom but she did not for a minute believe he could fly himself and Moira from Hogsmeade to Potter Manor, broom or no broom.

"James…," Moira said.

"No, Moira, I knew better, and I did it anyway, you shouldn't be blamed. They'll probably expel me. I'll be fine, I'll keep busy with Teddy or Grandfather," James said. "You have to stay in school."

Moira tried a different way.

"Daphne," she said.

"Yes, Moira?"

"It was me. I could have gone back anytime, and James would have come with me," she said.

"Moira! No," said James.

Daphne had listened as long as she could.

"If anyone is to be punished…" Moira began, until Daphne cut her off.

"Stop," Daphne said, and the crosstalk stopped.

"James did not fly Moira down to Potter Manor without a broom," she declared.

"Mum…"

"Moira, you are not responsible for James," she continued.

"MUM, she could be expelled!"

"James, please be quiet and listen," Daphne said, starting to shift into the cool professional who manipulated highly agitated witches and wizards with just her tone of voice.

"Do you have a broom with you, Moira?" she asked.

"No," Moira said, sighing. "I don't need a broom. I fly without any equipment. James, she needs to know. I'm a banshee, Mrs. Potter. If you want Hogwarts to send me back to our island, there's nothing I can do about it. We don't harm anyone, but we're widely misunderstood."

Daphne held the floor, in silence. She sat quietly, thinking. No one spoke, but James and Moira looked at each other.

"What do you think of my son, Moira?" Daphne finally asked.

Moira turned firey red under her milky complexion. James hadn't seen that before. Something stirred inside. He hoped the blushing didn't mean she felt bad somehow. That would break his heart. Something felt like it was breaking underneath his breastbone right then.

"He's a genius, everyone says that," Moira said, barely above a whisper. She couldn't look at either of them.

James turned red this time.

"Zelda fixed me up with him for tutoring in herbology, he's helped me a lot, he knows so much more than me and he can go through the texts with me and help me understand what they're talking about," Moira said, everything coming out in a flood. "I'm starting to understand the texts now on my own, thanks to James. I would have failed without him."

"Uh-huh," Daphne agreed, "That sounds like James. My question was what do you think of him? Not as your herbology study partner."

"He doesn't care if I'm a banshee, so there's that," Moira said. She hesitated, then went a little further. "I think a lot more of him right now than I did yesterday. Tonight, I can honestly say he is my friend."

Daphne was sitting there appraising James and Moira. They were adolescents, and she shouldn't have to be thinking about it, but she spent her professional life in the realm of emotions as presented by witches and wizards so she was realistic enough to know she had to start thinking about something, right there in the library, tonight.

"You're a second year, Moira, you're twelve?"

"Yes, Mrs. Potter," Moira confirmed.

"James is thirteen. Did he tell you about his birthday?" asked Daphne.

"Yes, Mrs. Potter."

"There is a lot for us all to work out," Daphne said. "Harry and I will apologize to your parents, of course, for James' part in this indiscretion. We will recommend James apologize to them as well, and to you and Hogwarts. James will be telling us all a lot about himself with his response. You use your time wisely when you're around James, this I can see. If I were you, I'd pay attention to his attitude toward you, his conduct and response to difficulties over the coming weeks. Watch, and learn.

"Is your home connected to the floo?" Daphne asked. "I really should speak with your mother."

"It can come and go, but, yes," said Moira. "It's Mrs. Turley, Turley Cottage, Isle of St. Magnus."

Daphne dropped her floo powder and asked for Mrs. Turley. Magical conditions were favorable and Daphne laid out a short version of James' and Moira's Samhain adventure. Mrs. Turley, once she was assured Moira and James were safe, seemed quite blase' about their whereabouts, assuring Daphne she was happy they'd found their way to the Potters' and wishing everyone in Devon a happy Samhain. Daphne assured Mrs. Turley they would keep Moira well-fed and comfortable while she was their guest.

"One thing and I'll let you go," Daphne said, "James? Anything to add?"

James gulped. He hadn't counted on making his apology under the prevailing circumstances. He came close to declining, then he looked between Daphne and Moira. They had expectations. Something told him it was not the time to disappoint them.

"Mrs. Turley, my name is James Potter, and I want to apologize for taking Moira out of school and bringing her home. It was wrong and I should not have done it," James said.

"Well, James, are you planning on doing it again?" Mrs. Turley asked.

"NO!" James said.

"So you've learned a valuable lesson?"

"Yes, ma'am, absolutely," James assured her.

"Um-hmm. Moira?"

"Yes, Mum?" said Moira.

"We'll talk, soon," Mrs. Turley began. "Meanwhile, you're to follow Mrs. Potter's instructions the way you'd do mine, understand?"

"Yes, Mum."

"When you get back to school you're to focus on your studies," said Mrs. Turley. "We'll catch up at Christmas. How was Samhain?"

"Incredible," Moira said. "I've never been to one this big."

"Glad you got to go, then," Mrs. Turley said. "Daphne? Thank you for everything. I hope to meet you soon."

"Merlin willing," said Daphne.

Daphne stepped away from the fireplace and stood there with her hands on her hips, looking back and forth.

"We are very busy at the moment," Daphne said. "That's not your fault, of course, but this could not have come at a more inconvenient time. So, what's done is done, welcome to Potter Manor, Moira. You're our guest and we'll do our best to make your visit memorable. James, I need Iolanthe, please."

"Mum," James started, because he really didn't think it would be a good idea to throw Iolanthe and Moira together, but Daphne wasn't having it.

"Is there a problem, James? I need Iolanthe, please."

James held his tongue and left the library.

"I can't have James walking you around, picking out your accommodations, that sort of thing, can I? You're going to be subjected to a lot of unwelcome questions, from your housemates and people who can't mind their own business, Moira," Daphne said. "Not that I had the experience of running away with my boyfriend when I was twelve, you understand, but the Potters have been subjected to ugly gossip at times. We'll do everything we can to keep that sort of thing at bay. For one thing, you and James won't be spending a lot of time in one another's exclusive company, okay?"

"Mother?" Iolanthe asked as she peeked into the library.

"Iolanthe, how's the party?" Daphne asked.

"Bunch of old people who think they can dance," Iolanthe said.

"No need to be uncharitable toward our guests, dear," Daphne observed. "This evening was very important, for Caroline, and the rest of us as well. We may soon find out just how important, ready or not.

"We have a last-minute houseguest, as you're aware," Daphne continued. "I need for you to spare James the responsibility for getting Moira what she needs to spend the night with us. Room, Periwinkle. Something to sleep in. Moira, you'll put what you're wearing just outside in the hallway tonight and the elves will return everything clean in the morning. The least we can do is get you back to Hogwarts properly fed and groomed after your country weekend."

Iolanthe looked at Moira. Was that a smirk?

"Moira?" said Iolanthe as she gave her head a little tilt toward the library door.

"Thank-you, Mrs. Potter," said Moira, falling in behind Iolanthe.

"Would it be too trite of me to ask what you were thinking?" Iolanthe asked as they got to the second floor hallway.

"That's just it," Moira said. "No one was thinking. We just flew and flew and talked and talked. The miles added up. Not a very good explanation…"

Moira shrugged.

"Well," Iolanthe said. "Well, well."

Moira had just come up a couple of notches in Iolanthe's estimation, a totally unexpected circumstance for both of them.

"You'll have to stay up here," Iolanthe said, starting up the stairs to the third floor. "The second floor is all occupied. I'll get you a nice view. Periwinkle?"

"Periwinkle is here, Miss Iolanthe!" said the elf. "How can Periwinkle help Miss Iolanthe tonight?"

"Periwinkle, this is Miss Moira," Iolanthe began. She couldn't resist adding, "A guest of Mr. James.

"She'll need a room, I think the one in the corner that looks out at the green. Check the bathroom and make sure she has towels, soap, toothpaste…Prefer shower or bath?"

"Bath," said Moira.

"A pot of those herbs for the bath that Lord Fabio gave us."

"Of course, Miss Iolanthe, Periwinkle will check everything," the elf assured her.

"What do you like to sleep in?" Iolanthe asked.

"Flannel pajamas," Moira said.

"Periwinkle?"

Periwinkle snapped her fingers and summoned a pair of neatly-folded flannel pajamas from somewhere, handing them on to Moira.

"Need a book? Witch Weekly? Hot chocolate?" Iolanthe asked, all of which Moira declined.

"Okay, Periwinkle will take you on. Clothes on the floor in the hall before you go to sleep. If you think of anything in the night, just call her."

Moira took her pajamas and followed Periwinkle.

"Moira?" Iolanthe called out.

"Yes?"

"Take a bath before bed. Use the herbs. Lock your door. Periwinkle will key it to your wand."

Iolanthe went downstairs.

"Come in," said Harry when Iolanthe knocked on the library door.

"Grandmother!" said Iolanthe, delighted to see Kendra sitting on the couch.

Harry motioned for Iolanthe to come over.

"Sit down, Iolanthe," said Daphne. "Moira all managed? We've some information to pass along."

Iolanthe took the place next to Kendra. She noticed Kendra had been laying out her runes.

"Trouble?" asked Iolanthe.

"Looks like it," Harry said. "Let me give you a little background. Jacques Lafleur, also known as Michel Lestrange, studied with a master some years ago. He learned a little esoteric combat magic and thought he'd go freelance. That is the basis of the lectures he gives. He broke the vows he took before he was accepted as a student and at two intermediate steps, but that wouldn't have gotten him the wrong kind of attention. What did is the criminal enterprise he developed to multiply the value of his ill-gotten gains.

"We have frustrated his ambitions. The investigators unraveled some of the schemes and the Potters just hosted an official visit with the Serene, which demonstrated our ministry's intention to work with her administration to keep him from chartering his shell companies in _l'Anse_."

"Wrap it up, O Wise One," said Daphne.

"We expect Michel Lestrange here shortly," Harry said. "He'll arrive at the wards with some close, core associates. They won't get in, but he will. Then he'll be advised to meet with his master and make amends. I expect he will try everything but the right thing and fail before he does the right thing. You, Lissette, James, and Moira will stay out of the way. Do you understand? You'll just endanger yourselves unnecessarily and make things harder if you try to help."

"I understand," Iolanthe said. "You're…"

"That's enough Iolanthe. Dear," Daphne said. She saw the shock, possibly some hurt, on Iolanthe's face. Kendra's head popped up and she looked between Daphne and Iolanthe.

"That was more abrupt than I intended. Silly, superstition," Daphne finished.

"It's fine, Daphne, Iolanthe can handle grownup conversation," Kendra told her. "She already runs the woods, that was obvious tonight, which means, she knows much more about how Nature and the Universe works than we thought.

"Iolanthe, Michel Lestrange is a renegade and he broke his vows to maintain his practice, the practice is what protected him from being misled by normal human egotism," Kendra went on. "He got too close and familiar with some serious power and thinks he can handle it. Another in a long, long string of very foolish wizards. He can't understand what he's trifled with, but he can do a great deal of damage."

"What your grandmother said," said Harry.

"Iolanthe, I need you to get Lissette and discreetly withdraw," said Daphne. "The young Toms' nursery would be a good place to relax. James is confined to quarters. We will be rejoining our guests. At least a few of them came to party. I hate to cut them off because we have needed this for so long. Don't you think, Mother?"

"Oh, certainly," Kendra said. She began to pick up her runestones and put them back in their bag. "We're finally getting magical Britain back to where it used to be, before all the carnage. It would be a shame to stop now."

"I'm in," Harry said. "I intend to party on."

"Your father feels the need to party on," Daphne advised Iolanthe.

Harry left the library, headed for the tent. He didn't know a lot about music, but he knew he liked the song he heard. The closer he got the better he felt. Harry entered the tent doing a kind of two step that felt good to him. That was what mattered.

The guests had departed, finally, by the time Jacques Lafleur showed up. Harry sat alone in the tent, a glass of mineral water close by, a bowl of crisps in his lap.

"Potter!" Lafleur shouted as he cut across the green. Harry got up and walked out of the tent. Wand in hand, Harry started casting _lumos_ at the Jack O'Lanterns that lined the path to the woods. When he got them re-lit he began levitating the pumpkins to the perimeter of the green.

"What do you think, is that about right? Bigger? Smaller? It's your call. I have home field advantage," said Harry.

"Potter I am so going to enjoy killing you," said Lafleur. "My business is going to get bigger than ever and you will rot un-mourned, you useless, nosy prig."

"Well, I'll bring a little light into your life, one way or the other, it seems," said Harry. "Who's your executor?"

"I don't need one," said Lafleur.

"Are you really a vampire, then? No aging, heal fast?"

"I am a vampire, yes," said Lafleur. "You won't kill me."

"Good to know," said Harry. Lafleur looked confused, for a moment or two.

"Tell me, Brother Michel, I've been puzzling over this for months. If you wanted a new identity, why go from Michel Lestrange to Jacques Lafleur? Why not become something really special like Ignatius Equinox or Everest Denali?" Harry asked. "Going from Michel Lestrange to Jacques Lafleur makes it sound like you had to match the rhythm or you'd forget your cover name at an inappropriate moment."

"I didn't come all this way for you to insult me," said Lafleur. "It was just something that happened out of necessity, the circumstances are too common for me to enjoy revisiting. It was one of those on-the-run things and then my lectures started to catch on and I was stuck with the Jacques Lafleur brand. Now get in position and you'll take your best shot and this will be over."

"Not so fast, Brother Michel, we still have obligations," Harry said. "As I told you once before, I'm obliged to offer you the chance to make things right. Call on your master, confess your error, follow his guidance."

"As I said before, No," said Lestrange.

"Fine," said Harry. He spoke, just for his wand. "Let me do this. No free-lancing, no matter how desperate things seem."

Harry slid the wand into his left sleeve.

Lestrange, with the confidence of the vampire, who'd just seen his enemy put his weapon away, sent a killing curse right at Harry's chest. Harry saw the green flash, relaxed and waited, ending up on his back a good ten feet behind where he'd been standing.

"Told you, Potter," Lestrange taunted the dead Harry. "Now I'm going to ruin every member of your family, one by one, and suck up every knut the Potters have to their name."

"Okay…Aaaaaah…" said Harry, pushing himself back to his feet. "Say it like you mean it this time, though, because I never get used to that flying backwards and going to the afterlife, only I'm not really dead. Merlin, that has become so tedious."

Jacques Lafleur didn't take the time to analyze what he'd just seen, flew into a rage, drew his wand back and threw it forward. " _AVADA_ …"

Harry adjusted his position so that the green bolt took him directly in his open mouth. He held his hands before him, fingers spread, like a keeper in front of the net, about to catch a hard shot. Lafleur put everything he had into the curse. It felt so good going out, like a sneeze that has been building.

Before Lafleur knew he was in trouble, Harry had fielded the hard shot on goal and used it to take control of Lafleur's arm. Then he opened up the route to the place he had built with hundreds and hundreds of hours on his cushion and practicing the forms entrusted to him by Master Francisco and began stripping the magic out of Jacques Lafleur. To be fair, when he'd left Master Francisco's school Lafleur had not yet gotten to that stage of his training, so it wouldn't do to say he should have seen it coming and been prepared. Even so, that was why one completes one's training and keeps the vows. That's why one prioritizes meditation in the midst of real life. That's why no one but Harry and Master Francisco knew he'd been taught how to capture a curse and use it to channel all the magic right out of a wizard. There is a reason to keep some volatile knowledge secret, and Jacques Lafleur stood paralyzed on Harry Potter's green, trying to understand his final lesson from the School of Master Francisco.

In less than a minute Jacques Lafleur's magic was no more. Harry sat down on the green and stared straight ahead, at Lafleur, who lay sprawled, a marionette with no one holding the strings.

"Harry!" shouted Daphne as she ran across the green, Kendra and Fabio close behind.

Healer Daphne wanted to start running diagnostics on Harry immediately but he waved her away. He looked aged, his unruly hair unruly, but white. His face was crisscrossed with deep wrinkles and he seemed physically diminished. The sclera of his eyes were completely bloodshot and a little trickle of blood showed below both of his ears and one nostril.

"Harry, I need to summon transport and get you to St. Mungo's," Daphne stated, although it was more of a demand.

"Mill," Harry said, staring at Lafleur, who seemed to be showing some little movements in his limbs.

"Wand," Harry said, pointing at Lafleur. Fabio called out "Accio wand!" Lafleur's wand flew to Fabio who grabbed it and put it inside his robe.

"So much Dark…couldn't anticipate," Harry managed to get out, then, "Water?"

Periwinkle materialized with a tumbler of water and held it to Harry's blistered lips. The water burned going down but Harry knew he needed it and kept swallowing. Daphne put her hand on his forehead, then jerked it away.

"Harry, you're burning with fever! What did you do?" she demanded.

"Not fever," Harry whispered, not explaining further.

Periwinkle stood by awaiting another assignment. The house was stirring, the children beginning to emerge despite their orders. Daphne couldn't see any reason to restrict them further. Besides, this might be the only chance they'd have to see their father before he died. She shrank from the thought but the issue was obviously in doubt. James had walked down from his room, met Iolanthe at the bottom of the stairs and the two walked on out to the green.

Daphne was kneeling beside Harry, still wearing her gown. Harry leaned back against her, his breathing shallow, eyes closed more than they were open.

"Iolanthe, the babies?" Daphne demanded.

"Lissette and Tracey are up there, Mother," said Iolanthe. She turned toward the manor at the sound of a window opening. It was the corner room, overlooking the green. Moira's head was visible in the moonlight, poking up out of her flannel pajama blouse.

"Father?" Iolanthe said. "Father, are you still with us?"

"Iolanthe Astoria," Harry said, his voice hoarse, scratchy, like sandpaper at work.

"Did you pass over again?" Iolanthe demanded.

Harry worked his lips. Iolanthe noticed blisters swelling. Harry reached for James and Iolanthe, taking a hand from each.

"Your aunt…and your grandmother…love you," he said, then, "Both."

One tear ran down Harry's cheek. Kendra brought Daphne's head close and gave her forehead a kiss. Kendra thought she'd felt Astoria and Lily at the bonfire. It was Samhain after all.

"Harry!" Daphne said, then more urgently, "HARRY! Oh, Merlin, no, no, no!"

She took both of Harry's wrists in her hands, trying desperately to find a pulse. Iolanthe and James looked on, helpless.

"He's fine," said a voice from the house.

Everyone looked. The only person visible was Moira, leaning out of her third story window.

"He's fine," she repeated, "Get him somewhere comfortable."

"Moira," shouted Iolanthe, the rage evident in her voice, "Moira Turley you don't…"

"Yes, she does," barked James, some authority showing itself. "If she says he's fine, he's fine."

"Moira, dear, please get back inside, we don't need you to take a fall tonight along with everything else," said Kendra.

"Moira will manage that," James said. He turned toward the house.

"Come on down, Moira, you'll be very useful here," James called out.

Iolanthe looked at Daphne. Daphne looked from Iolanthe to Kendra. Kendra waited for the next revelation. What a night.

"OH!" was all Fabio could say before Moira stood on the third floor windowsill in her flannel pajamas and bare feet and launched. The flannel dimmed as she dropped, to gray, then black, and something vaguely shaped like a human but flying like a blown-away scarf of black acromantula silk rolled and boiled its way to the group on the green, where it re-established itself as Moira Turley, James' young friend from Hogwarts.

"You're going to be fine, Lord Harry," Moira assured him. "I'd know if you weren't."

"And how, may I ask?" asked Healer Daphne, just a bit puffed-up.

"I'm a banshee. If he were about to die, I'd be wailing something fierce. Don't worry Lord Harry, we'd give you a proper banshee sendoff."

"That one isn't dying either," Moira added, nodding her head toward the prostrate Jacques Lafleur. "If you want to do something about him."

James would have let his mother handle things if she'd been her normal self. If it were his Mum, Daphne Greengrass Potter, upright on her own two feet, assessing the situation, seeing details no one else saw and plotting everyone's course to the desired end, but she wasn't. James stood up, letting Harry's hand go.

"Grandfather, perhaps you'd honor that gentleman with a proper restraining jinx, in recognition of his advanced studies. Dad, a relocation? Inside, out of the weather? It is November," James said.

Harry nodded.

"Please," he said, then, "Periwinkle? Drink?"

Periwinkle lifted the tumbler for Harry once again and he took in several noisy gulps.

When he'd finished, James ducked under one of Harry's arms.

"Iolanthe," he said. It wasn't a suggestion. Iolanthe ducked under the other.

"Ready, and UP," James said and all three rose together.

"Father?" Iolanthe said.

"Weak, that's all," Harry said. James reached across to Harry's throat with his free hand and undid his bow tie, then unbuttoned his collar.

"Last thing he needs right now," James observed. Harry nodded he was ready and they walked slowly back through the tent to the house.

Harry's study was a little confining for the group, which soon included Lissette, Tracey and the young Toms, wide awake and clamoring for an early breakfast. Still, Harry enjoyed lying stretched out on the couch, where he did much of his reading, and, to be honest, indulged in naps.

Harry didn't say a lot, but he listened and could communicate non-verbally. The mineral water went down easier and easier and Periwinkle was only too happy to keep replenishing Master Harry's mineral water. Daphne left Harry to Periwinkle and vice versa. Melon was summoned and everyone put in their own drink orders. In time the sky got a rose tint and Harry was getting his voice back.

"Lafleur?" Harry asked, looking at Daphne.

"Tied up, out on the green," Daphne said. "You went and got yourself a renegade monk without once considering how you were going to feed and take care of it, Harry Potter."

Harry would later say Daphne's mild scolding was the best remedy he'd received in the entire course of his long recovery. It was true that Harry did not have a proper dungeon because he'd built the manor long after those had ceased to be standard equipment for a gentleman's home and family seat. While he lay there on the couch with everyone talking around him, Harry tried thinking through the current phase of the Lafleur problem.

He would have been justified in killing Lafleur, who had invaded his property and challenged him. Harry hadn't wanted to create a martyr for Lafleur's followers, except as a last resort. If they put Lafleur on trial they'd simply be giving him a platform to spread his beliefs more widely. There was a question of how long he'd be imprisoned as well, leaving open the chance he'd be out after a short spell away, now equipped with a personal story of persecution. The thing with no magic out on the green was still a vampire, though, so advising him to make the adjustment to muggle and get on with his life was not a good option. Daphne, as was nearly always the case, was right once again.

"Call the aurors?" James suggested.

"Don't think so," Harry rasped. "Healer, may I have some pumpkin juice? Cold?"

"Pumpkin juice should be fine," Daphne said. "Periwinkle?"

Harry waited, then drank half the pumpkin juice before continuing.

"Oh, lots better," he said.

"A trial gives him a platform to speak to his organization. He'll claim religious persecution, based on the philosophical bits of his talks. He will no longer be magical, so there would be the question of jurisdiction. Our laws and criminal procedure apply to wizards, which Jacques Lafleur is no more. If we let him loose as a muggle, we let him loose as a muggle vampire. It is a puzzle," Harry concluded, ready to return to his pumpkin juice.

"We could confine him," Daphne speculated.

"You'd have to build something," Kendra noted. "You don't have a dungeon. Asking someone who does…well, that would present its own difficulties, wouldn't it?"

No one had any further solutions to offer. Daphne thought it was time to cut the number of visitors at her patient's bedside. She sent everyone but Kendra and the twins to the dining room and asked Periwinkle to take breakfast orders.

"Mother, could you hand me the fussiest baby?" she asked.

Kendra and Daphne chatted while she fed the twins, but Daphne observed Harry closely. He was taking more and more pumpkin juice. Daphne had no experience with the magic Harry had employed in confronting Jacques Lafleur. She couldn't remember anything from her training, nor her extensive reading in the healers' journals that described Harry's symptoms. Until there was some counter-indication she would treat him for burns. With a little persistence she might even be successful in getting him to St. Mungo's for a complete examination by specialists.

"Ice?" Harry asked.

"Ice pack for the head? Ice for your pumpkin juice?" Kendra asked, ready to summon Periwinkle once the options were narrowed down.

"Crushed, please," Harry said, adding, "In a glass."

Harry thought over the Lafleur custody problem while he nursed from his tumbler of crushed ice.

"Okay, Harry," Daphne said as she removed baby #2 and finished up. "Can I at least get you to let me do a more thorough exam? You can't sit around here in that condition, ready to topple over. Just do it as a professional courtesy."

Daphne took Davis from Kendra and the two of them left the study, Daphne tossing back, "Five minutes. Don't move," as she left.

When the babies were happy upstairs Daphne came back ready to focus on a proper workup. She had Harry take off his shirt and spent twenty minutes poking and prodding. The blisters on his face and lips were going down. Harry's face still showed the signs of rapid aging, his hair and eyebrows were white and his throat and mouth fiery red.

"You were cursed," Daphne stated. She was putting her wand up her sleeve after a good five minutes of scanning Harry from head to toe.

"But you're still alive," Daphne added.

Harry buttoned the last button on his shirt and fell back on the couch with a long sigh.

"I was," he agreed, "And I am."

"Why won't you go to St. Mungo's?" asked Daphne. "Take your condition seriously, just for two or three days."

"If things were normal," said Harry, done with that thought. He moved on to another.

"Lady Black, this is where I start to use you."


	52. Chapter 52

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Fifty-Two

Of Vampires and Grandees

"Master Francisco!" Harry gasped. He bent over in a low, extended bow. If he'd been asked, Francisco Aguinaldo would have been among the last people Harry would have named as likely to show up on his doorstep.

"Up, up!" laughed Francisco, after returning Harry's bow. "You defeated Brother Michel?"

"Yes, Master Francisco."

"And you lived!"

"Yes, Master Francisco."

"Let's sit down," said Francisco, looking Harry up and down. "You may be alive, but you did not come out very well."

Francisco started laughing again, bringing Harry along with him.

Harry had just gotten Master Francisco seated in his study when Iolanthe, Lissette and James knocked on the door. Harry could see Moira waiting behind them in the hall.

"Your prisoner is in temporary quarters, Father," Iolanthe said. "Mother got an owl post a few minutes ago. Percy Weasley will be calling this morning."

"Oh," Harry said. Leave it to the children to take care of the practical side of things.

"Come in, everyone," he said. "Master Francisco, may I present my daughter, Iolanthe Astoria Potter, her friend from Hogwarts, Lissette Lestrange, my son, James Greengrass Potter, and his friend from Hogwarts, Moira Turley. Everyone, this is my teacher, Master Francisco Aguinaldo, from Cebu."

The students all went through some variation of, "Very pleased to meet you, Master Francisco."

"So nice to meet you young people," Francisco assured them. "Is your mother close by?"

James affirmed she was and went to fetch Daphne, returning with Tracey, Kendra and Fabio as a bonus.

"Harry Potter," Francisco said as he stood, "You have learned the traditions of our lineage and kept your vows. I've come because there is something I must do in person. To do it, may I impose upon you and your family for just a few minutes?"

"Of course," Harry said. "What do you need?"

"To see Michel Lestrange, or his body."

"Ah," Harry said, looking back at Iolanthe. "You said prisoner, not deceased prisoner?"

"Yes, Father," Iolanthe said, "You can visit your prisoner." She looked at Lissette, who avoided looking Iolanthe in the eye.

James and Iolanthe flanked Harry once again, reversing their course to the green, then on to the woods.

Harry must have been showing some alarm on his ravaged face because James spoke up to say, "We had to keep him out of the sunshine."

Iolanthe waved her wand near the trunk of a monstrous oak tree and stepped through a portal.

"It's just a fancy fence," she said, "Until we can build something permanent."

Then she added, "If it turns out we need to."

One by one the party entered the portal. Lissette and Iolanthe kept their wands ready. Harry looked around for Michel Lestrange but didn't see him. What he did see was a pig, a fairly trim red pig, rooting around in the mass of acorns that covered the ground beneath the great oak tree.

"He can stay out of the sun and he seems content," Iolanthe said, speaking with the authority of someone who has spent hundreds of hours in the ancient and honorable pastime of observing magical creatures.

The pig raised its head and looked at the party of Potters and various allies and associates. Harry thought it stared long and hard at Master Francisco before turning away with a piggy snort.

"This is as good a place as any," said Francisco. He turned to Harry.

"Harry Potter, you are the first practitioner in our tradition to deploy successfully the defensive use of magical extraction in many years. Your opponent studied with us, learned some techniques, then broke his vow and tried to commercialize his knowledge. As a token of your Mastery, you are to wear this with your robe."

Master Francisco pulled his hand from his pocket, bowed, and held out a red belt. Harry gasped. The red belt had not been presented to anyone for decades, perhaps a century.

"Master Harry," said Master Francisco, bowing.

"Master Francisco," said Harry, returning the bow as he accepted the belt.

Harry was still wearing his grass-stained formal shirt and black trousers with a satin stripe on the seam. Strictly speaking he should have added a robe, but he wanted to let a certain red pig see him in his red belt. Harry straightened up and faced the pig. He took his time getting the belt around his waist and knotted properly. The pig trotted over to the party of humans. It looked directly at Lissette and snorted. Lissette looked at the pig, keeping her wand in hand and visible.

"What?" she asked.

The pig snorted and let out a little squeal.

"It wants to say something," Iolanthe said. "Don't you, Mr. Pig? You didn't get a chance to speak your piece."

The pig hung its head, then shook it back and forth. Lissette didn't move her head, although she did shift her eyes toward Harry, then back at Iolanthe.

"Give me the word," Lissette said.

Harry drew his wand.

"Iolanthe, keep an eye on him. Any sign, of anything," he said, "Earns Michel one _expelliarmus_. Go ahead, Lissette."

Lissette reversed her _porcinafors_. Michel Lestrange stood up as a man once again.

"Master Francisco," said Lestrange, not bowing exactly but inclining his head all the same.

"Lestrange," said Francisco. "Pull up your hood, it's not shady enough for you here."

Michel Lestrange did as he was told.

"Come to finish the job, Potter?" Lestrange asked. "Be my guest. You've done everything but. I can't charm a bud to open. I tried."

"Can't do that, of course," said Harry. "I'm paying a high price for relieving you of all that darkness you were carrying around. I'll keep paying it, too, minute by minute, as long as I live. Understand, I won't be letting you get off that easily. You might have to get used to porcine life. None of us are going to become murderers to save you from it."

That seemed to get through to Lestrange, who appeared to have some of the pomposity knocked out of him.

"I'm a wizard…" Lestrange tried before Harry cut him off.

"WERE a wizard," Harry said. "No more. Your privileges are revoked."

"Nothing I did deserves this," Lestrange muttered.

Iolanthe saw Lissette's flush, the watery sparkle in her eyes, and she laid her free arm around Lissette's waist, drawing her close. She didn't think Lissette would kill Lestrange right there in front of everyone but one never knew.

"Decisions will have to be made, as you well know," Harry said. "Marshal the arguments in your favor. It will give you something to do."

Harry turned and nodded to Lissette.

" _Porcinafors_!" said Lissette, pointing her wand, and Michel Lestrange was left to find company in his acorns.

"Some refreshment after your travels, Francisco?" Harry said as the party crossed the green. "I know just the place."

Tracey and Daphne flanked Harry on the walk to The Mill. Francisco was delighted to meet the fairies. It was a beautiful day, for the first of November. A warming charm kept the arbor at a very pleasant temperature. Harry did well, considering, but the fatigue showed. The food and chitchat from his distinguished guest could not keep him upright indefinitely. Harry didn't feel like it was his most gracious performance, but he extracted a promise from Master Francisco to stay and at least overnight with the Potters before going back to Cebu.

"Daphne?" Harry said. He got up from the table and walked toward the front door of The Mill.

Once they were inside Harry took Daphne's hand and went straight to the bedroom to lie down.

"I don't have the energy," he said before taking several deep breaths.

"St. Mungo's," Daphne said.

"I know," said Harry. "Not right this minute. I feel like I need to be here. It's not rational so don't reason with me."

"What do you want me to do?" asked Daphne.

"Hospitality for the visitors. Keep the children calm," Harry began. "Francisco said he can stay for a day or two. I really need to have an extended conversation with him, but it won't be right now. Chaperone James and Moira. Be Lady Daphne and hostess our guests' country weekend.

"There will be more to the Lestrange affair and I'm delegating the statecraft to you. I will be in retreat for some months. No work. Not fit."

"Oh?" said Daphne. "I'm witness to a first."

"Ha. Ha," Harry said, enjoying himself.

"You and the others can stay here or go back to the house, but I'll be going to sleep now."

Daphne kissed Harry on the forehead, ran her hand through his white hair and left him there, drifting off, his red belt and wand in his folded hands.

Harry spent the weeks between the first of November and Black Christmas at The Mill. He and Francisco had two hours-long conversations, breaking bread and drinking pumpkin juice. Some of their consultation happened while they sat on Harry's brookside thinking bench, which they were delighted to find was equipped with a warming charm. Melon was assigned to Harry full-time so Periwinkle could manage the rest of the estate. Harry spent most of his time in meditation, strengthening the container that kept the Dark away from Harry and the family.

True to his word, Harry let Daphne handle the statecraft. Percy Weasley paid a call at Potter Manor to get the story on Michel Lestrange. Daphne gave him a tour of Michel's corner of the woods. Percy couldn't find any fault with the containment and the pig was being treated humanely. He reported to Kingsley that Michel was better off with woodlanders for neighbors than he would be with the wretches of Azkaban. Assured the ministry had no objections to the Potters' handling of the Michel Lestrange situation, Daphne agreed to host Lestrange pending a decision.

Harry tendered his resignation from the ministry, which Kingsley accepted with great regret. Harry felt a great weight lift off of him when he handed Kingsley his letter. Kingsley was extremely kind and gracious, thanking Harry for his years of exemplary service and assuring him he was welcome back anytime, in whatever capacity he thought he could handle.

Late on the Saturday of the Samhain ball, Millicent Bulstrode took the floo to Potter Manor, spent the night, and took charge of the return to Hogwarts on Sunday. Much as she hated the time away from her patient, Daphne went to Hogwarts with everyone, along with Tracey. Mrs. Turley had come over from St. Magnus and met the Potters and Moira at the Three Broomsticks.

Daphne and Mrs. Turley, whose name was Agnes, could not have been much more different if they'd tried, yet hit it off immediately. Agnes was thrilled to find out she was meeting Fabio Greengrass' daughter. Fabio had been buying some unique plants and shellfish from St. Magnus for decades, providing a much-appreciated supplement to the island's cash income. Daphne resonated with Agnes' plainspoken honesty which mirrored Daphne's own core self-image of a simple country bumpkin witch from Devon.

The meeting in the headmistress' office was not pleasant for James and Moira. The headmistress relived for them her shock in getting the report that the two were missing, how the staff and students nearly tore the castle apart searching. She advised them that their ability to fly unaided was not license to do so in future. She imposed a penalty of one hundred points, each, from the Hufflepuff total.

Given his chance to speak, James again took all responsibility for the incident, apologizing to Professor McGonagall, Mrs. Turley, Daphne and Tracey, and especially to Moira. Agnes told James she appreciated his gallantry, but she would not allow Moira to let him take all the blame. Agnes ceded the floor to Moira, who followed James' lead and apologized to everyone, with a special codicil in her apology to James for letting him get in trouble with his lovely family, which she followed with yet another round of thanks to Daphne and Tracey for the hospitality.

Agnes and Daphne, for their part, assured the headmistress they did not consider the penalty onerous. Satisfied everyone was on board, Professor McGonagall got to the closing formalities and sent the students back to their common room.

"Can you relieve me of the need to send you back with an escort?" she asked. "Think carefully before answering. This is the first of many opportunities for you to start earning back our trust in you."

Moira and James nodded and left.

Professor McGonagall waited until the spiral staircase stopped turning, then looked at Daphne.

"Harry Potter's side," Daphne said with a shrug of her shoulders.

"Ha!" said the headmistress. "I was thinking he is aptly named. Something like this is James all over again, without the mean streak. Professor Longbottom tells me Moira has made tremendous progress in the weeks they've worked together. Please handle them carefully, won't you? They are such fine young people and there wasn't really any harm done. It was a careless bit of magic but they were surprisingly care-FUL, weren't they? I promise you both we will watch them. They're extraordinarily bright. I suspect they have learned their lesson."

James expected a chilly welcome back to the common room, not the standing ovation he and Moira got. Hufflepuffs were generally so low-key they lacked the excitability necessary to get into trouble. Besides, two second-years taking off and flying cross-country without brooms to attend a Samhain ball was such an achievement, the 'Puffs were constitutionally unable to let it pass. Moira and James were given seats near the fire and subjected to an hour-long interrogation covering every aspect of their adventure. James turned very red in the face when he related how Professor McGonagall had taken one hundred points apiece from Hufflepuff as recompense.

"A small price to pay," announced one of the prefects, "Let us turn our hands to our work and get that back by Friday!"

His speech was so inspiring he got a round of applause, and James felt better immediately.

The opinion of the house toward the two miscreants was communicated to the rest of the school the following morning at breakfast. None of the Hufflepuffs touched food or beverages until James and Moira arrived. Then they all stood and waited for James and Moira to sit in the places they'd saved, only then sitting down and eating.

James and Moira expected to be closely watched so they adopted a routine they followed for the remainder of the year. Moira did her studying outside of class with Zelda. James and Moira continued to eat together. Their table talk was almost exclusively about herbology. James checked Moira's homework and gave her back her parchments. If she had some ready to hand in she'd give it to him at mealtime and he'd have it for her at the next meal. Twice a week they would sit opposite one another at a table in the common room and write letters home. Each would send a verbal greeting to the other's family which would show up in the letter. Daphne and Agnes took note.

Tracey planned a very low-key Black Christmas that year. Most of the Blacks knew Harry had been in a serious duel and continued to suffer the after-affects. Harry managed to go, and welcomed everyone, then let Teddy and Scorpius have the podium. Teddy did the recognition and birthday wishes for Iolanthe. Then he plugged Scorpius' book. Scorpius finished up with thanks to Teddy and to everyone who had helped and supported him in his scholarly pursuits. There were a larger-than-normal number of toasts and things could have gotten rowdy had the crowd not been holding it down out of respect for their white-haired chief.

James wasn't at Black Christmas. Harry and Daphne agreed it would not send a constructive message to take James out of school for a big family party just one month after he had risked expulsion to take himself out to attend a big family party. He was missed, but the older Black students who were in attendance agreed James was present in spirit. Provision was made for the transport of a selection of Black Christmas treats to Hogwarts for James and Moira.

Spring term passed without incident. By mutual agreement, James and Moira observed an arm's length rule outside of meal times, where they continued to sit across from one another in the places the Hufflepuffs had saved for them. Most of their table talk concerned herbology, but the topic could be exhausted after awhile. Sometimes James could get Moira to talk about growing up on St. Magnus or going fishing with her father and uncles and a great Newfoundland dog she couldn't remember not having around. This led to James confessing his experience with dogs was mostly limited to interactions with an ancient Bichon Frise that ruled his grandparents' home when it could be bothered to do so.

The conversations over meals, aside from herbology discussions, led by end of term to a solid friendship and mutual respect. Neither James nor Moira knew another person remotely like the other, so every encounter was guaranteed to be interesting.

One wouldn't have expected Moira and Iolanthe to become close. Iolanthe was two years ahead of Moira. She was close to James, Zelda and Hugo, but they were family, with lots of shared history. On the other hand, Iolanthe and Moira had been raised up and presented to their Mother as maiden witches at the same Samhain. The old ways held there was a kind of sisterhood in that. They reached a rough equilibrium as the Scottish winter dragged on.

"Iolanthe," Moira would say when they passed one another in the corridor.

"Moira," Iolanthe would return, giving a little nod but not breaking stride.

They didn't hug or extend hands for a quick squeeze. James noticed. He'd have liked them to get along a little better but was resolved not to interfere. Wise beyond his thirteen years, James watched and waited for Iolanthe and Moira to decide to warm up.

James didn't know it but Iolanthe was keeping her distance from her subjects. Iolanthe was a born naturalist and nothing was more satisfying to her than field work, sitting at a distance from the objects of study, unlined parchment pad on her knee, filling page after page with notes and sketches. Iolanthe learned from Zelda that Moira had a birthday in February so she broke her own no-interaction rule and gave Moira a birthday card in the Great Hall before retreating back into her neutral distance. By the time end of term was approaching Iolanthe decided Moira was acceptable, as a friend, for her brother.

It made no sense, logistically, for students from the Isle of St. Magnus to take the Hogwarts Express to London as the first leg of their journey home from Scotland. Agnes Turley and a number of other parents came to Hogsmeade instead, meeting their children at the end of the carriages' route to town. James and Moira arrived with several other students, observing propriety by sitting opposite one another. Agnes didn't show any reaction, positive or negative, when the two climbed down from the carriage. James picked up both his and Moira's hand luggage and carried them over to Mrs. Turley.

"Moira! How was spring term?" Mrs. Turley asked as she pulled Moira into a long, squeezy hug.

"And James," she said as she let Moira go.

James put Moira's bag down and straightened up.

"Mrs. Turley," he said before running out of words. Some Hufflepuff witches came over and wanted good-byes with Moira. Agnes Turley took James' arm in hers and turned him away from the others.

"Reports have been favorable, James," Agnes began. "I want to thank you for all the help you gave Moira. She found herbology undecipherable last year, I don't know if you knew that. I'll credit you with getting her started over. She actually seems to like it now, as a subject, according to her letters. Please give my greetings to your lovely mother. I hope I can see her again soon."

James couldn't have been more surprised. Mrs. Turley wanted to see his mother again, soon? Was Mrs. Turley saying he was forgiven for taking Moira from Hogwarts on an unauthorized trip to Potter Manor? He didn't want to presume, but it certainly sounded like it.

"She's brilliant, Mrs. Turley," he replied, "She had just glossed over some basic concepts. I'm glad I was able to help. It would have been a shame for her to get poor marks for that."

Agnes was starting to turn back toward Moira when Zelda ran up and pulled Moira into a clinch.

"Owls!" she exclaimed.

"Of course!" Moira replied. "Mum, this is my study partner, Zelda, Zelda, meet Mum."

James stepped back, picked up his bag and waited for the witches to finish. He wanted to say good-bye for the summer, then he and Zelda would board the Hogwarts Express. Instead, Agnes Turley surprised him once again, pulling both him and Zelda close and thanking them for being such good friends to Moira.

It was time for the passengers to board the train. James stood a little apart, but close enough for conversation. He nodded at Moira. She nodded back.

"Enjoy the summer," he said, earning him a big smile.

"Same," said Moira, "Enjoy yours."

Once aboard the Hogwarts Express, James, Zelda and Hugo found a compartment with some other rising third years. Iolanthe and Rose came upon the group in the course of their inspection sweep. Iolanthe thought Zelda would be scrambling to escape the presence of the young wizards, but there was a second witch in the compartment. Iolanthe looked at her. The young witch held her gaze with a pair of brilliant green eyes.

"I'm sorry," Iolanthe began. She held her hand out in a tentative offer.

"Hester," said the witch as she accepted Iolanthe's hand, "Hester Carrow. Ravenclaw."


	53. Chapter 53

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Fifty-Three

Adjusting to Retirement Life

The arrival at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was uneventful, as arrivals go. A few muggle parents of just-advanced first years were a bit surprised by the kind of end-of-term celebrations going on, the animated origami dragons flying overhead, owls out of cages for a ride on shoulders and wand play of the showers of sparks variety. Magical parents watched, demeanors ranging from calm to mildly-approving, and occasionally assured nearby muggles it was all in fun and not to worry, their magical children well understood their license to be magical would be in abeyance over the summer vacation.

Daphne left Harry alone at Potter Manor while she went to King's Cross to pick up the Potter children. Blaise was on the platform to take charge of Zelda, Tracey being out of town due to work on a splashy wedding.

"Trunks are arranged for," Daphne told the group, "Including Zelda's, unless you've got something different in mind, Blaise? We will be going to #12 for some refreshments with the Granger-Weasleys, then I'll be at St. Mungo's for an hour or two while James, Lissette and Iolanthe will be on their best behavior. Then we re-form at #12 and proceed to Potter Manor. Correct?"

Daphne had it all worked out so well the travelers were compelled to agree. Daphne took Iolanthe and James by side-along, letting Lissette manage her own apparation. The Potters hadn't been home long enough to change when Ron Weasley arrived with Rose and Hugo.

"Hermione sends regrets," he said. "Sounded mysterious. I didn't pry."

"Ohhh…" said Iolanthe. She was making a joke for Rose, in a way, but she felt the loss just the same. Hermione was still an icon for scholarly witches. Just because Iolanthe lived with the healer and mental maladies specialist Daphne Greengrass Potter, OM, didn't mean she wouldn't value a second opinion from time to time.

Ron, it turned out, was free for the rest of the day, so Hugo and Rose were available as well. Ron moved to the garden, which brought James, who wanted to assess the look and well-being of the beds, which naturally drew Hugo in as well. Iolanthe, Lissette and Rose settled in the second drawing room to discuss summer plans.

"Are you going?" Rose and Iolanthe demanded to know when Lissette announced Caroline had invited her to _l'Anse des Sorciers_ for the summer.

Lissette hadn't decided. She liked Caroline and wanted to get more knowledgeable about the Lestrange family, as well as her place in it, but was reluctant to get too distant from Iolanthe and the Potter-Blacks. She was especially conflicted about the possibility she would miss the upcoming Black Picnic. Besides, she had formed a strong attachment to Potter Manor, especially the mill stream with its stone bridge and grotto.

"I have to think it over," Lissette said. "I want to talk through everything with Lady Daphne before I make any decisions."

"Always a good idea," said Rose, who'd had her own discussions with Lady Daphne.

Returned students roamed the house, changing places inside and out. Rose and Iolanthe joined Ron in the garden. Ron wanted to review the Gryffindor quidditch matches he'd gone to, as was to be expected, but without the energizing presence of Zelda the discussions lacked punch. That left academics, not generally known to be one of Ron's enthusiasms, wands and wand work excepted. Iolanthe and Rose were fine talking about wands, which are just as interesting as any other magical areas.

Hugo still exercised with Iolanthe every morning at school. He expressed his regret that he didn't live at Potter Manor as James did so he could have his customary workout. James invited him over, every day if he wanted, offering to keep Hugo constructively occupied in wholesome outdoor activity when he was done with his wind sprints.

Daphne returned around an hour after arrival, just as she'd promised.

"Ron, why don't you, and Hugo and Rose, come to the house and take some refreshment?" Daphne asked. "Harry'd love the company and the youth can run free for a couple of hours."

Ron accepted immediately. Daphne stopped in her study to drop off some parchment and was hailed by Walburga Black.

"Lady Black," said Walburga.

"Madame," Daphne returned.

"How is his lordship?" Walburga wanted to know. "I really wish you'd convince him to come home," she added. "We can take much better care of him here. If not here, get him to consider Cornwall."

Daphne fought to control her sense of humor. Walburga was completely sincere. Daphne wouldn't do anything to hurt Walburga's feelings, even if Walburga just insulted Daphne's professional competence in assessing such things.

"Lord Harry is consistent, if nothing else," Daphne said, appending, "As we both well know. He feels a strong connection with his history at The Mill. Even Father says the magic comes up out of the Earth there, like a spring. Lord Harry seems to be benefiting from his time at The Mill, for reasons unknown. Certainly nothing I encountered in all of my training says why it should be that he credits that place with his progress. As a healer, I am not inclined to meddle blindly when I see beneficial results just because I don't understand them.

"He does speak of you and the late headmaster Phineas Nigellas often, Madame," Daphne went on.

"Oh?" said Walburga. Something in her tone said she wouldn't mind hearing more.

"Yes, your expression of confidence, calling him a Black warlord," said Daphne, "which he demonstrated he is. He credits that, in part, for the victory over Michel Lestrange. He possessed the skills, you reinforced his spirit. After that, he couldn't let you down."

Walburga looked fit to step out of her portrait and hug Daphne, or perhaps to demand Daphne's hand so she could kiss her ring.

"He has always been a fighter," said an approving Walburga, glossing over the fact that she backed Harry's opponents in some of the biggest fights of his life.

"He is so proud to represent us, on the field, or in the Wizengamot, as the case may be," Daphne finished.

"Blessings on you and yours, Daphne," said Walburga. "Regards to Kendra."

"Always," Daphne assured her as she opened her study door.

The expanded party got to Potter Manor and spread out. Harry was expected to be with the twins, so Ron, Iolanthe and Rose headed straight for the nursery. Daphne called for Periwinkle to ask what had been happening and put in an order for some appropriate snacks and beverages. Lissette stayed with Daphne. James and Hugo headed for what was now universally called the Exquisite Conservatory, the shortened version being The Exquisite.

Ron's detachment climbed the stairs to find Harry had opened up the doors between the nursery and the master bedroom suite so that the lads could have the run of the place. Every toy they owned was out of the toy box or off the shelf and scattered about the two rooms.

"Harry!" Ron called.

"In here," Harry answered.

Ron tracked Harry down in the nursery, closely followed by Iolanthe and Rose. The young Toms were captured in short order and subdued with smothering kisses and gentle hugs. Iolanthe and Rose demanded to know if they'd been missed but the lads hadn't grasped the concept of people coming and going.

"Where's your mother?" Harry asked Iolanthe.

"Downstairs, organizing," Iolanthe answered, looking around an armload of toddler.

"Can I turn them over to you? They were just changed. Might want something to eat," Harry said. "Want a turn, Ron?"

"Sure," Ron agreed, taking a twin from Rose. "Which one are you?"

"Davis," said Iolanthe and Rose in unison.

Ron sat down in a rocker and tried making conversation with Davis, who tolerated the presumption for three or four minutes. Ron let Davis go and reached out for Evans.

"Come on," he said, "You can leave whenever you want."

Evans didn't last as long as Davis, so Ron gave up the fight.

"Let's go find your mum," Harry said.

The main body of toddlers, Rose and Iolanthe, Harry and Ron arrived in the salon at the same time as Daphne and Lissette. Everyone seemed to enjoy the polite conversation. Summer plans were discussed, as were class choices for the fall term. James and Hugo got back from The Exquisite Conservatory. James had not been able to work on his pride and joy since his ignominious departure in November. Even though the garden elves had kept up with the watering and removal of dead plants he saw weeks and weeks of work ahead before he was satisfied.

"Lissette," Ron began, "You've finished seventh year?"

"Yes, sir," Lissette said. "Just waiting for the NEWT results."

"Of course," Ron said. "Any plans?"

"Madame Pomfrey accepted me in the infirmary this year," she said. "Depending on my NEWTs, I'd like to continue and get a Mastery in Healing."

"Impressive," Ron allowed. "Apprentice Researcher with the Wizengamot investigators wouldn't be of Interest, I suppose. It could be a great place for the right person, so feel free to help us with recruitment."

Rose was sitting across from Iolanthe, her head up, listening carefully. Iolanthe caught on. She tilted her head in a "So?" gesture. Rose looked back and gave a "Yes, so what?" combination of eye-roll and head toss. Iolanthe was pleased their non-verbal communication was as sharp as ever. "Bless him," she mouthed.

Rose wouldn't have admitted it in so many words, but she was making opening moves for Scorpius' post-Hogwarts life. Dazzling scholar he might turn out to be, but there would not be a living earned for a couple, or a family, from publishing updated versions of medieval manuscripts. Besides Scorpius, Rose had career ambitions of her own. She knew she occupied a privileged position as the daughter of Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, and she was determined to earn a place for her name alongside theirs. Rose was intrigued by the idea of a career as a magical lawyer. A good lawyer and a historian might be able to combine efforts and fund a household.

"I need a stretch," Harry said, one of the code phrases for exercise time. Hugo was on his feet before Harry could get all the way up.

"Anyone else?" Harry asked. Iolanthe pondered, although not for long. She stood and threw off the robe she still wore from the train, hanging it over her chair, to be followed by her tie. The shoes came off and were parked underneath the chair.

Harry walked to the green, leaving his shoes behind at the edge of the clipped lawn.

"Dueling forms?" Harry asked before walking to the middle of the green and beginning his warm-up of twists and arm-swings.

Life went on. Ron contacted Hermione and informed her he had accepted an invitation to dine that evening at Potter Manor. Hermione arrived promptly at four, a good two hours earlier than her usual return from work. The arrival of Rose and Hugo was working a mysterious magic of its own.

Harry and Hugo had moved on to sparring. They gave no sign of giving it up as long as they had light, which, considering the latitude and time of year, meant they would be out on the green indefinitely. Hugo asked if Harry wanted to move on to wands.

"Sure," Harry said, drawing his. The holly wand nearly jumped from his hand from excitement. "Forms or a little fencing?"

"Let's do forms for now," Hugo said.

Ron was looking on from the patio when the wands came out. He soon joined Hugo and Harry on the green.

"Count off, Hugo," Harry said, and Hugo began leading the drill. They hadn't gotten very far when Daphne spoiled the fun with a great burst of sparks out over the green.

"Dinner!" she called when she had their attention.

Upstairs later on, Harry lay propped up on pillows while Daphne rocked Evans.

"You're getting some of your energy back," Daphne observed.

"Correct," Harry said, "Only it is a lot, not some. It may be the exercise in the fresh air. I've also considered sitting still on the bench by the mill stream. I can't bring it to a conclusion."

"Madame Walburga volunteered something today," Daphne said, "Something that might interest you. She said she wished you'd come home, or at least go to Cornwall. They can take much better care of you if you're present. Thus says Madame Walburga."

"Madame Walburga," Harry said. "She just wants to debrief me. She must get some rejuvenating vibration from stories of crisis and conflict. As a matter of fact I've been thinking about that very thing. It occurred to me it might be time to go on progress. Go visit the properties, walk the lanes with my family, show up on market day. We'll need to start preparations for Black Picnic. What better way to kick off June?"

Daphne looked down at Evans, who appeared to be sound asleep. She gave him a kiss on each cheek. Evans didn't wake up so Daphne laid him down in his crib and closed the nursery door, taking great care to be quiet.

"Tracey is ready to order food," Daphne said as she lay down beside Harry. "The guest list is the same as last year, give or take. You really started something with your Black fandangos Harry. You all but inherited a vacated title, then you resuscitated an entire clan."

"Thanks as always, but I don't think it was just me," Harry said. "At the beginning all I wanted was a little more family than what I'd ended up with, after the war. I really didn't expect this. There's a theory that's been running around in my head for a year or more. All of our Black cousins wanted the same thing. Look at Andromeda and Narcissa. Everyone all fragmented, thinking about conflict that was over and letting that be a barrier to reconciliation.

"I think," Harry said, "And you can tell me I'm no longer rational if you want, but I think Astoria, and you, and Tracey had more to do with this than I did. You are a huge draw, I'm sure you know. Everyone wants to be around you. Tracey, too, and they want to consume Tracey's buffet and attend Tracey Davis-planned events the same as the rest of the world. The Blacks get to do that twice a year for free. Astoria and Draco were critical. That's how we got the sisters together in the beginning. They came to the engagement party at #12, respected the occasion and showed everyone else it could be done."

"Anyway, that's what I think," Harry finished.

"Oh," Daphne said. After thinking it over Daphne rolled toward Harry, put her hands flat on the sides of Harry's face and gave him a kiss. She didn't rush, just took her time, did it right before letting him go and rolling back to her side of the bed.

"Are you going to tell me what I did, so I can do it again?" Harry asked when he'd recovered.

"Worked all the right charms in the correct order," said Daphne.

"Moving along then," Harry said, "Work. Keeping up?"

"Of course, Harry," said Daphne. "It's very high up on my priorities list."

"Thought so," Harry said, "But I had to ask. Statecraft?"

"Not all that demanding," said Daphne. "Without a ministry department under me the most burdensome part is the contact with our Wizengamot colleagues. I buy a lot of lunches, since we haven't been able to entertain while you were laid up. No one seems to expect you to do more than you already are. There haven't been any divisive issues of the Jacques Lafleur sort since, ah, Jacques Lafleur."

Harry smiled at Daphne's conversational cul-de-sac.

"I heard Lissette mention getting her Mastery as a healer?"

"Yes, it could happen, depending on NEWTs," Daphne said. "Her marks in sixth year wouldn't have gotten her there. How could they? I still become furious when I think of how she was treated by those people. Poppy and I have stayed in touch all year, though, and Lissette seems to have thrown herself into both the studies and the practical work. Poppy has written her a very strong recommendation, all ready to go out as soon as she gets her NEWT results."

"She knows she doesn't have to worry about fees and books and whatnot, doesn't she?" Harry asked. "How does she feel about her exams?"

"Yes. Nervous and unsure," said Daphne. "Apparently it's a chronic condition with her. She fears utter disaster until she has the sheet in hand."

"Sounds like Hermione," Harry said. "Back in school she'd have nightmares about freezing up on an exam. With everything else that was going on, that's what she worried about."

"In retrospect, though, Harry Potter did carry the day, so academics really were all she needed to worry about, weren't they?" asked Daphne.

Harry blew his breath out through his lips.

"Ron and Hermione did their share," he said. "Maybe more."

No one had a followup.

"This is fun," Harry finally announced, "But I'm drifting off, and that would be exceedingly impolite of me. Want the nursery door open?"

"Yes, please," said Daphne.

There was rain on Sunday morning so everyone took breakfast inside, watching the water run across the patio. Harry went to the owlery when he saw the rain because any inbound owls would have been unable to find their addressees outside. One owl raised its leg to show it was carrying a little parchment. It was addressed to 'James Potter, Potter Manor, Devon.'

Harry delivered the message and thought about what he wanted for breakfast. James brightened up as soon as he saw the handwriting on the parchment.

"Moira got to St. Magnus," he announced.

No one had anything to say. Finally, Iolanthe spoke up.

"Ground-breaking," she observed. James turned red. Iolanthe wondered if she'd angered him. She looked back down at her bowl of porridge.

"I should have sent her a note," James said.

"You still can," Iolanthe said. "Although, it would be more considerate of the owls to wait until it stops raining."

Harry saw the day getting off to an unpromising start and intervened.

"What's your schedule like, Lissette? Didn't your cousin the Serene expect a visit?"

"Yes, Lord Harry, thank-you for asking," Lissette said, going a little bit formal. "She was trying to get me to come for the summer but I told her I had to come back for Black Picnic."

"Go and come back," Harry said, "Then go again. The logistics aren't difficult. Get some sun, speak French for a month or two."

"Sounds attractive enough," Iolanthe said. "Think about it. Not everyone has a sovereign for a cousin. She seemed really nice the times we saw her."

"Uh-huh," Lissette said. "I think she really is that way. I haven't heard different, I have to say."

The rain did blow out, eventually. James dispatched his owl. Iolanthe took Lissette on a walk in the just-washed countryside around Potter Manor.

"I'd go to _l'Anse_ , if I were you," Iolanthe said.

"I'll go," said Lissette. "I just don't know when or how long I'll stay. A lot will depend on the NEWTs and getting accepted for my mastery."

They walked along in silence, enjoying the fresh, after-rain scents, looking for magical creatures who might be out and about.

Iolanthe spoke up. "I'm glad we met, you know," she said. Lissette kept walking, not feeling a need to speak.

"I know," she said, finally. "You've shown me your drawings."

Lissette snickered a little and went on, then she elaborated a little.

"You're very kind to me," she said. "In your drawings."

Iolanthe turned red, walking along, looking down at the lane.

"Well," she said, "I'll tone it down. Promise."

"I'm not offended, you know," Lissette said, "Just realistic. If that is how you want to see me, you won't hear me complain. I'm glad we met, too."

Lissette stopped talking for a bit before starting up again.

"It was bad. My situation? That was not going well, Iolanthe. It's not an exaggeration to say I feared for my life, whether that was a rational fear or not. I'm not over it yet. Lady Daphne has helped me so much. I don't know what I would have done without the Potters. When your parents brought us back for the Samhain ball and treated me like family, like I fit in and had a place, I think that is when I started to feel better about myself. Tracey Davis thought I was worth her time. Tracey Davis! This wonderful couple, and their daughter who rescued me, all thought I was worth something, and then I began to think so, too."

All the sentiment started to get through to Lissette and again she stopped talking. Iolanthe heard some sniffles and offered tissues from her satchel.

"You are worth something," Iolanthe said. "The fairies say you're a sprite. That makes you very special. I predict you will be discovering powers and abilities in yourself for as long as you live. Those fools who mistreated you? They don't deserve you, and they never did."

There wasn't a lot more that needed saying right then so Iolanthe and Lissette turned their attention to enjoying the pleasures of a country lane in June. Their course took them back to The Mill, a common Potter occurrence, and they worked the charm to change the pile of discarded limestone to a bench. Iolanthe lay back against the stone.

"Ooh!" she said when the refreshingly cool stone met the perspiration on her back. Iolanthe got up and moved from the bench out into the sunshine. She found a grassy spot, cast a drying charm on the grass and dropped her satchel, then took off her sweaty shirt and lay it flat to dry in the sun before sitting down and taking out _The Odyssey._

"Want to read?" she asked.

"I thought I'd visit the mill stream," Lissette answered.

"That works," said Iolanthe as she turned her attention to Homer. Lissette dropped her clothing on the grass and disappeared behind the stream bank. Iolanthe heard the song begin almost immediately.

James had his parchment note drafted and rolled into a tube before the rain stopped. He climbed the stone steps to the owlery and looked for the big barred owl Harry liked.

"Know where the Isle of St. Magnus is? It's very obscure," he advised the owl. "Only the best navigators can find it. I hope you like a challenge."

The owl looked like he'd been insulted, intentionally, for no acceptable reason at all. James changed course.

"You are my best hope for getting this message through," he said. "If it can be done I know you will do it. If you come back with the message, it will just mean that Nature is greater than all of us."

James finished tying the scroll and offered the owl a bite of sausage from breakfast. The owl appeared to James to be conveying an acceptance of James' symbolic apology just before he launched for St. Magnus.

James selected some clothing suitable for getting wet and dirty and put it on before returning downstairs. The only human company he encountered were Tracey and Zelda who were casting drying charms at patio furniture. Zelda had what looked like a tumbler of orange-mango juice and Tracey had a big mug of coffee.

"Taking on all that backed-up work in the Exquisite?" Tracey asked.

"The stuff of nightmares, from what I saw yesterday," James said.

That June, when Iolanthe was fifteen, was the first she could remember when Harry had been at home as a full-time husband and father. He no longer had a job, in the sense of being an employee of the ministry. Harry was free to host breakfast for everyone on the patio, retire to his study with a book, host lunch, play with the twins, visit James in his greenhouse and gardens, and generally be the head of two noble houses.

Daphne kept Harry up to date on political maneuvering among the magical factions. When necessary he would take the floo to the ministry, where he still kept a robe, and make an appearance in the Wizengamot. Daphne made sure he thoroughly understood the issue under consideration. Harry was known to be closely linked by history and outlook to Kingsley. As such a known quantity he was perfectly placed to host a luncheon at #12 Grimmauld Place and make a quiet pitch for a Wizengamot rule change or support for a piece of legislation.

Harry didn't do arm-twisting very well, so he stayed away from hardball politics. He was much better at inviting one or more people to the house or Morgan le Fay's where he would take the opportunity to ask about spouses and children, just to catch up. In between the chit-chat about Hogwarts and the summer visit to the grandparents there would be an opportunity to ask about the issue at hand. Harry put a lot of effort into honing his listening skills. A member who was reluctant to support something Kingsley wanted to do might not be negative in principle, they just might not be able to be supportive of this or that detail in the legislation. It might sound odd but the punishment Harry absorbed in taking the magic out of Jacques Lafleur and the constant effort it took to keep it contained combined to keep him in a kind of state. The youthful hothead was defeated by the controlled, disciplined Harry Potter whose preservation depended on maintenance of calm and resistance to display of temperament.

"What would it take to fix the problem?" Harry would ask. Sometimes he'd get a facile answer he knew was possibly a half-truth, possibly not even that. He wouldn't probe. It was better to let his colleague keep his own counsel. Harry knew that in a very high percentage of such cases, the other person was desperate to be more forthcoming, while there was, simultaneously, another driver keeping them from putting their real objective on the table. Harry didn't have any place to be, other than at lunch with another member of wizarding Britain's highest governing body. He'd just let his counterpart enjoy the hospitality at #12 Grimmauld Place and the company of the Grandee Lord Harry Potter-Black, OM. They'd come around, eventually.

By mutual agreement the Potters, and their associate Tracey Davis, kept the politics away from the children. There were people in government who were rapacious in their drive for money, power, influence and more esoteric pleasures. The raw information wasn't useful for young people. The adults all had their sources of information, which they pooled as a matter of course. They didn't think they were doing politics for personal gain. They thought they knew how important good governance was and were trying to help Kingsley and his junior ministers and department heads bring that about.

It was about mid-June when Harry learned from Whetstone that the field that made the indentation along one side of the Potter Manor lands was coming on the market. Harry didn't need any additional land to manage, but he had always thought that piece would be a logical acquisition. The soil was mostly a sandy loam and well-drained. One corner near the lane was a bit of a knob and boulder-strewn. Harry gave Whetstone the go-ahead to find out the price and any terms or obligations that ran with the land.

Just before Black Picnic, Harry got a message from Whetstone. The price was not a problem and there were no caveats or entailments. Harry went to Greengrass Manor to talk the offer over with Fabio.

"We don't need it," Harry said, "But it's good land and if we buy it no one will be turning it into a dump or some kind of nuisance."

Fabio smiled at Harry's observation.

"So what do you intend to do?" Fabio asked. "Is it worth the price to get piece of mind?"

"I think so," Harry said. "There's a second generation from the same family farming it now. I would like to find out how long they've been renting. It could go back to when my father was living right next door. That would be something, wouldn't it?"

"It would," Fabio agreed. "Sounds like you're going ahead."

Harry took a moment to stroke his chin.

"I think I will," he said.

The Potters were in residence at #12 Grimmauld Place when Lissette returned from a short visit to _l'Anse_. Harry announced at breakfast that he was going to Gringott's at ten, and could take someone along. James and Iolanthe weren't enthusiastic but Lissette sounded eager. Harry and Lissette used Gringotts One and met Whetstone in the small paneled room off the Gringotts board room.

"Good to see you again, Lord Harry," said Whetstone

"The same to you, Whetstone," Harry said, then, "May I introduce a valued associate of the Potter family? This is Lissette Lestrange, who is a school friend of our daughter Iolanthe."

"Welcome to Gringotts, Miss Lestrange. This way," Whetstone said as he led them back to his private office.

Harry kept Lissette involved throughout the transaction, explaining which parcel was involved, how it connected with the other fields, and what he knew about the family that rented it.

Whetstone led Harry through the land transfer formalities, witnessed Harry's signature and even asked him to impress his Potter seal in hot wax on one parchment. Business concluded, Harry and Lissette went on via floo to the Leaky Cauldron for some pumpkin juice.

"Lunch?" Hannah asked as Harry and Lissette exited the fireplace.

"Not today," Harry said. "Just a stop on the way home. We've got time for two large pumpkin juices, though."

The small booth was occupied so Harry picked out a table in the middle of the floor. Sitting with the carving that declared Jacques Lafleur was a vampire probably wouldn't have been good for the mental health of either Harry or Lissette.

"How was your cousin Caroline?" Harry asked as they waited for their juice.

"Great," Lissette said. "She took me all over _l'Anse,_ gave me my own suite in her house. Technically, it's the palace, of course. It's full of magic. She seemed very proud her dining room can be charmed to become a ballroom. She contrasted that with Potter Manor."

Harry had to let go a huge laugh.

"Did she now?" he asked. "It's good we brought in the tents, then. It wouldn't do to go one-up on the Serene. She outranks us!"

"She had a wonderful time at the ball, though," Lissette said. "She mentioned the minister several times. I took it the world doesn't take much notice of _l'Anse des Sorciers."_

"Perhaps not," Harry said, "All the more reason we should try harder to show the world she's not forgotten. Caroline and _l'Anse_ could have been very vulnerable to pressure from Lafleur and his organization."

"Well, Lord Harry, you saw to that," said Lissette. "Cousin Caroline is very grateful, too."

"Mm-hm," Harry said, not needing to go further in revisiting the scrap with Lestrange. "What else did you do? Are you going back?"

Lissette looked away.

"I…" she began. "It's difficult. My father is Caroline's first cousin. He's her closest relative. She wants to make provision for her succession."

Harry thought he knew where the conversation was going.

"You," he said.

Lissette just nodded.

"Not to be presumptuous, I assure you, but it sounds like your father…John?" Harry asked.

"Yes, John," Lissette said.

"Is he unsuitable, in Caroline's estimation?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Lissette sighed. "My father is a wizard, but when he and my mother broke up, he landed with another woman. A squib. They are doing fine. She understands wizards, and he appreciates her mundane world skills. He's an artist. She markets his paintings in a little gallery. They're a good combination I'll admit.

"He's let his French go. It's competent tourist French, not suitable for matters of state. He likes his life and isn't interested in transforming himself into a viable Serene."

"I see," Harry said. "Is this going to conflict with your plans? Caroline seems to be the picture of health. A hundred and two, doesn't even walk with a cane. She could live another fifty or sixty years. More."

"True," said Lissette, "Maybe she will, Merlin bless her."

"Where about your other plans? Your marks were very good. Better than very good," Harry said.

"Madame Pomfrey and Lady Daphne wrote beautiful recommendations," said Lissette. "I'm pretty sure there will be a place for me with someone."

Lissette drank off a long swallow, finishing her pumpkin juice.

"I want to get my Mastery. We're still in discussions. I don't want to turn her down."

"Maybe I'm missing something," Harry said, "But I don't see a conflict. Caroline could be good for decades, and you'd be a valued asset in _l'Anse_ as a qualified healer. Can I do anything? I'm sure I can deliver Daphne, Tracey, the Delacours, and possibly Kingsley."

Something about that struck Lissette as hilariously funny.

"Thank-you, Lord Harry, I'm sure you can," she said. "I just don't want to disappoint her. She's asking if she can bequeath me her life's work, to carry on."

"I understand," Harry said. "You have a sense of duty. You're a natural royal."

Harry finished his pumpkin juice and stood up, Lissette following his lead. Lissette couldn't see what Harry handed Hannah across the bar. "For the elves' fund," he said and walked straight to the fireplace.


	54. Chapter 54

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Fifty-Four

Daphne's Apprentices

Iolanthe and the rest of the Potters joined Tracey and Zelda at the Black estate in Cornwall a week before Black Picnic. James was occupied with gardening from sunup until around ten in the morning. Everyone thought the house and grounds were perfect except James, who continually found a little more pruning that needed to be done or a bed needing additional plants or thinning of what was already there.

On the twenty-fifth of June, James received a letter by owl post, just around the time he was knocking off work until late afternoon. He stood in the shade of the arbor and opened the envelope. Something in his face said to Iolanthe that James might need some unconditional support when he finished reading.

"Problem?" Iolanthe asked. James handed her the folded parchment.

"James," Iolanthe read, "Thank-you for thinking of me. I asked Mum if I got an invitation from your mother if I could come, but it seems I am needed here. Please don't bother Daphne because it would not make any difference.

I won't be writing for two or three weeks because I will be out fishing.

Miss you,

Moira"

"Oh, James, I'm so sorry," Iolanthe said. "It would have been fun to have her at the picnic. Well, future parties."

"I guess," James said, "If we're still friends."

"You got as far as discussing summer plans?" Iolanthe asked.

"Well…yeah," James said. "It wasn't discussing, really, it just came up. Talking."

"Uh-huh," said Iolanthe. "Understand, James, I'm not one speaking from an abundance of personal knowledge about romance, but I am an observer by necessity. Still, I would put money on you and Moira being friends long enough to throw a party one of these days."

"You sound confident," James said.

"You're not?" asked Iolanthe.

"She's…" James tried to answer but got no further.

"Special? Beautiful? Smart?" suggested Iolanthe.

"Stop, you're embarrassing me!" James demanded. Both of them started to laugh.

"What's so funny?" asked Daphne as she came down the rear steps to the garden.

Iolanthe stood there and held her tongue. If James wanted to share, he'd share. Otherwise, Daphne wouldn't get it out of Iolanthe. James held out his hand for his parchment. Iolanthe gave it to him, and James handed it straight on to Daphne.

"See for yourself," he said.

"It was nice of you to think of Moira, James, but it seems she has family obligations," Daphne said after she'd read the note. "We know about those, don't we?"

Iolanthe and James nodded Yes.

"Yes, Mum," added James. He didn't indicate that made him feel all that much better.

"I thought, Black Picnic and everything. Maybe for the day. If her mum said yes maybe you'd send her an invitation."

"Well, of course I would have, James, but we aren't going to stick our noses into another family's business," Daphne said. "If Moira's needed at home, that's that, and I suggest you return a note by owl thanking her for asking, ask Moira to thank her mother for her consideration, and sign off with 'Another time perhaps.'"

James reached out for the parchment.

"Wish her a safe trip," Iolanthe advised. Daphne looked at Iolanthe, a little curling-up showing at the corners of her mouth.

"That's a wonderful suggestion, Iolanthe," Daphne said. "I should have thought of that myself. Where have my manners gone?"

Daphne went back to her rounds, checklists and consultations with Tracey.

"Got your bag?" James asked. "I'd like to borrow a piece of parchment."

Black Picnic was planned for June thirtieth, Scorpius' birthday. Draco and Scorpius were to arrive sometime on the twenty-eighth and stay until the end of the festivities. Tracey was very efficient. This being her umpteenth iteration of Black Picnic Tracey and her trusted elf associates' logistics for the day drew mainly on the market stalls of the nearby village. That left everyone else free to enjoy the house and gardens of the Black estate, rambles around the neighborhood lanes, and long conversations in shady places with plenty of iced tea and lemonade.

Cornwall got a nice rain overnight of the twenty-ninth to thirtieth, clearing the air and giving the countryside a good wash. Scorpius wasn't much of a gardener but he joined James in walking the grounds looking for anything they could find that didn't meet standards. It was fidgeting, more than anything, although an activity James found both pleasant and distracting.

Scorpius was escaping from the house and the flood of congratulations from the portraits on the publishing and excellent sales of his book of Brother Glott's tales of Merlin. Professor Binns had done his work, relating to Phineas Nigellas a long, overdone tale of Scorpius' work ethic, research skills, original insights and not least, the ecstatic reviews in all the better magical scholarly periodicals.

Ironically, most of Binns' reports had a sound basis, it was the excess that Scorpius found embarrassing. The portraits didn't care. They hadn't had a young Black wizard of Scorpius' quality around for decades. They saw it as a family obligation to convey their appreciation. Scorpius took it as long as he could. He was naturally gracious and considerate. Finally, he excused himself and resolved to keep James company for the rest of the day.

It was inevitable that Scorpius would get around to, "How's Moira?"

"Great," said James. "She's gone fishing."

"I'm impressed," Scorpius said.

James pondered Scorpius' comment for some time.

"Why?" he asked.

"She can do something practical, like you," Scorpius said. "Like Teddy, and Grandfather Fabio and Grandfather Lucius. Daphne. Lots of witches and wizards can't."

"I guess so," James said, pausing in his unnecessary weeding, "Never really thought about it that way."

"Do you like her?" asked Scorpius. "If you don't mind my asking."

"I've been advised…" James began before pausing, then starting again, "I've been advised we have a long time before it would be appropriate to speak in those terms."

"Were you really?" asked Scorpius. "'A long time before it would be appropriate to speak in those terms?' Let me say, then, welcome to the club."

"Oh," James said, "Which one advised you? Ron, Hermione, your dad?"

"None of them," Scorpius answered. He tried not to laugh but did anyway.

"Rose?"

"Of course," said Scorpius. "She's right. To be honest, none of the others could speak with Rose's authority. Besides that, she forces me think in the long term. If we want to have happy, satisfying lives together, we'll each want to do something the other can respect. That means study now, put some of the other stuff off until later. It will all look different in four or five years."

"Rose came up with that? That's brilliant," James said, admiring the logic. "I understand you're well on your way to becoming a historian. Will you be Professor Binns' successor?"

Scorpius turned quite red in the face.

"Unlikely. Binns likes what he's doing too much."

"So you and Rose talked it all over?" James wanted to know. "The future, making a living…?"

"Once," said Scorpius. "Just one time. We walked back to the castle from a very boring quidditch match and kept going, walking along the lakeshore. I wondered if I had the courage to tell her I loved her, and Rose saved me from botching it up by saying she knew I liked her, and she liked me, but we weren't going further until we could at least see independence ahead. I did get her to promise me she would tell me if her feelings changed, and I promised to do the same. That's how we left it. That's how it is today."

"Wow," James said. "That is a very good arrangement. Well done."

"It was all Rose," said Scorpius.

"Maybe," replied James, "But I don't think so. She sensed you needed to say something and got there first. You both had to contribute. You're both wise."

"That's quite a compliment, thanks," Scorpius said. "Go ahead and use it if you think it applies."

"I don't know," James said as he bent over to pull up some grasses that were encroaching on one of his beds. "Moira is kind of direct. If she has something to say, she says it. I guess it will be September before I see her again. It wouldn't be right to put that in a letter."

"No, probably not," Scorpius said, "Although, she might like to hear something now and then. A post card. 'Sun's shining in Cornwall.' That's all."

James broke off his gardening.

"I think I'll do that," James said. "Thanks. What are your plans?"

"Fifth year," said Scorpius. "Lots of history. Professor Binns and I have talked about a couple of independent study projects. Defense. Professor Bulstrode makes me feel like a wizard. Rose and Iolanthe will be their usual selves. Rose is talking about going into magical law. We'll stay busy. What does Moira like, besides herbology?"

"Runes," said James.

"Oh, then there are a couple of witches you know with whom she should spend some more time," observed Scorpius.

"True," said James. "Two more reasons for her to be interested in me. I'll have to mention it to Grandmother. Moira might have left without making the connection. Things were a bit chaotic at Samhain."

They came to 'Lady Black's Garden,' a private little half-acre of brick walkways, patios and conventional garden beds surrounded by a stone knee wall and screened by cypress trees. Teddy and James had laid it out and developed it over the past couple of years. James opened the iron gate and led Scorpius in.

"Thought I heard something over here," he said, and was met by some aggressive growls by two young lynx. The mother lynx who was watching them gave a growl of her own.

"Careful," said Iolanthe from her spot on a steel glider.

"Let's see," James said, kneeling down. The two lynx came running on the brick walkway that bisected the garden, then stood on their hind legs with their forepaws on James' shoulders. James reached up and scratched behind an ear on each of the young Toms.

The lynx lay down on their bellies, one next to each of James' legs. James continued scratching ears. They looked at their mother and growled, tails twitching the whole time. They bolted at some secret signal and charged, leaping onto her, only to be swatted and sent rolling across the path. They changed tactics, one keeping her occupied from the front while the other pounced on the mother lynx' twitching tail over and over again.

"So, zookeeper," Scorpius said, addressing Iolanthe.

"I saw you over there conspiring, Scorpius Malfoy, don't think I didn't," said Iolanthe.

"You've met my cousin?" Scorpius asked. "He's a magical landscaper, very accomplished. He's a scintillating conversationalist. Too bad our talks are all off the record, or I'd share."

Iolanthe had been stretched out on the glider but she drew her legs up, twisted a bit and made room for Scorpius and James. The young men sat down, their feet and legs finding the rhythm. The swinging became very regular.

"Oh, mmmm…" Iolanthe said. "Not too fast, right there!"

James and Scorpius settled into trying to keep Iolanthe happy with the pace and altitude of their swinging.

"Happy Birthday, Scorpius!" said Iolanthe. "I almost forgot."

"Yeah, Happy Birthday," James said. "I DID forget."

Scorpius hadn't finished his thank-you's when Tracey opened the gate.

"Are they going to do the picnic like that?" she asked, waving at the three lynx.

"She didn't say," said Iolanthe. "Maybe they will, maybe they won't."

Everyone watched as Daphne transformed back to human.

"A girl can't have any fun around here," she observed. The young Toms tried chasing each other but not for long. They too transformed and stood still, collecting their thoughts or awaiting attention from the bigs who were smiling at them in adoration.

"It really is time to get ready, if anyone wants to change," Tracey said.

James picked up Evans and Davis and waited at the gate for someone with a free hand to open it up.

Once again Harry opened the picnic with a welcome then turned things over to Teddy. Notable events and achievements since Black Christmas included two weddings involving Black cousins, Harry's retirement and Scorpius' birthday. Scorpius accepted the birthday greetings and thanked everyone for coming. Then he thanked all the family members who had purchased his book, which he knew must have happened because the sales numbers were so high. Then he asked everyone to join him in thanking Harry for his work in keeping the Black family together and promoting its interests. With that, Scorpius declared Black Picnic underway.

Harry sat with Andromeda and Narcissa for much of the picnic. The concentration of Black seniority brought everyone to their shady haven. Victoire stationed herself close to Andromeda but she was happy to fetch a freshened drink or run an errand for any of the three. Rose tried doing the same for Narcissa. Scorpius' grandmother saw herself as having final approval rights for Draco and Scorpius' major life decisions, in the absence of Astoria. She kept her own counsel regarding Rose, while acknowledging to herself that Rose was demonstrating she was solid granddaughter-in-law material. Narcissa let Rose stay around as long as it looked like Rose was enjoying herself. When Rose began to show signs of needing a little Iolanthe time, Narcissa reached out and took her hand.

"Go find Iolanthe, dear," she said, "You need a break from all this old lady talk."

Rose would have kissed Narcissa on the cheek but she hadn't been invited and didn't want to take liberties. Instead she squeezed her hand and smiled.

"I'll check in later," she said, "In case you need anything."

James, Iolanthe, Zelda and Scorpius were standing clumped together holding plates of picnic food when Zelda announced, "We need to get some of this to Great-Grandmother."

Everyone thought that a capital idea. Iolanthe was detailed to ask Daphne to work out the details at Davis Manor. James and Scorpius put some food together for traveling. Zelda went to consult with Tracey. Rose and Lissette were soon conscripted, partly for inclusion and partly for unforeseen contingencies. Those had a way of appearing without warning in the midst of magical events.

Tracey agreed to accompany the children to Davis Manor so that Daphne and Harry could remain with their guests at Black Picnic. Transport was accomplished without incident, everyone taking the floo to Great-Grandmother's salon. The old lady was lucid throughout the hour the travelers spent with her. She remembered names and Scorpius' birthday. She found the grilled fish from that morning's catch particularly noteworthy.

Tracey noticed the small table beside Mrs. Davis' wing chair had been replaced by a larger model, one that now accommodated both Zelda's quidditch record certificate and a copy of Scorpius' book of Brother Glott's Merlin tales. Mrs. Davis even demonstrated some knowledge of the contents, asking Scorpius to flesh out one or two points where she thought Glott diverged from convention or hadn't cited particularly strong evidence. Scorpius opened the volume and saw it hadn't been signed, so he found a quill and a bottle of ink and inscribed a fairly florid greeting to Mrs. Davis.

Delighted as she was by the visit of her great-grandchildren, Mrs. Davis made no objection to Tracey's observation that it was time to get everyone back to Black Picnic. Rose and Lissette made their farewells, followed by Scorpius, James, Zelda and Iolanthe. Mrs. Davis cried, of course, as the four stood and knelt around her, kissing the top of her head or a hand, telling her how much they loved her and promising a return visit soon.

The conversation must have been exceptional that year because about half of the guests were still at the Black estate when the travelers returned. With the lower sun and thinned-out grounds, groups sorted themselves out by various affinities, drank beverages across the range from abstemious to near-death strength, nibbled at extra helpings from the buffet, and polished good feelings among the Blacks.

It was near sundown when the last visitors left. Farewells were evolving. More and more witches wanted to hug Daphne, then bring her right hand to their lips and kiss her signet. Some had begun calling her Mother when they took their leave.

"With your permission, Mother," they'd say.

"Thank you for everything, Mother. When will you visit us in Ireland (or Scotland, or Jersey or Cherbourg)?"

Daphne smiled, kissed all the departing children on their heads or cheeks, and promised a visit soon.

The Potters departed the following morning, leaving Tracey and Zelda behind to work with the elves to put the house back in order. Daphne had to visit her patients. While at the hospital, she confirmed Kendra would be at home in the afternoon and went to Greengrass Manor direct from St. Mungo's.

"What does the rest of your day look like?" asked Daphne after she'd kissed Kendra's cheek, scooped up Raffles and accepted an offer of tea.

"Quiet," Kendra said, "Anything special on your mind?"

"I haven't had lunch," Daphne said. "They've probably all eaten at home, so I thought I'd see if I could find some company."

"Oh," Kendra said. "Certainly. Here or there?"

"We should go there," Daphne said. "Tracey is probably still in Cornwall and I don't know how energetic Harry is going to be today. He still tires so easily."

"Sure," said Kendra. "I'm always ready to join the Potter-Blacks for lunch. Fabio is in Torshavn for a few hours. Want a traveler for that tea?"

"Nope," said Daphne, tipping the cup up and drinking off about half.

"Coming, Raffles?" she asked as she put the cup on the table.

Daphne and Kendra walked out of the fireplace in the salon at Potter Manor and spotted Harry stretched out on the couch. They tried being careful, without result.

"Wah?" Harry said as he sat up.

"Sorry, milord," said Daphne. She put Raffles down so he could join his lordship. "Children?"

"Iolanthe and Lissette have the twins, just where I don't know," said Harry as he lifted Raffles up. "James is in his Exquisite Conservatory. Teddy was rumored to be coming…"

The fireplace flashed green and gave a noisy 'WHOOSH.' Victoire stepped out followed by Teddy.

"Merlin!" Harry exclaimed. "You gave me a start."

Victoire, Kendra and Daphne switched to French, everyone enjoying a round of " _Bonjours, Bienvenue and comme ca?_ "

"How's it going, Harry?" asked Teddy. He tried not to be obvious as he looked Harry over, trying to find signs of continuing recovery.

"Lots better, but still no stamina," Harry said. "It's not that bad. Not like it was at the beginning."

The witches excused themselves and took off up the stairs to search for twins. Teddy said he was expected at The Exquisite so Harry joined him for the walk.

Daphne and Kendra eventually gravitated to the patio for Daphne's late lunch. Kendra accepted an offer of a salad and tea, managing the pot for the two of them.

"Your grandmother owled this morning," Kendra said. "Her great-grands are the best ever. I should have shown you her note. Zelda is first among equals, it seems."

"Of course, they have some special magical empathy," said Daphne. "What a change."

"Mother knows it, too," Kendra said. "She was so negative before Zelda was born. What you and Harry did means a great deal to Tracey, if you didn't already know."

"Tracey tells me from time to time," Daphne said. "I tell her she'd have done the same for me. Which I believe she would have."

Daphne let her comments lapse. Kendra leaned back in her chair and looked down the long slope to the tree line that marked the path of the Dart.

"It's none of my business but I am so glad Harry built the house back on the old site," Kendra said. "I remember sitting here with Fabio and James and Lily."

Daphne understood Kendra meant she'd had good times on the old patio. The best of companions, two of the three now gone.

"It's our favorite place," Daphne said, then, "Well, not counting The Mill. The three of us sit here and talk and watch the shadows get long, and before you know it they're all out here with us. Millicent and Ginny, too, if they're in residence. Long row of patio chairs lined up like this."

She drew a line with her forefinger.

"Have the Potter-Blacks stabilized, for now?" Kendra asked.

Daphne thought that had a funny sound and had to take a moment before answering.

"Experience shows the roster has a way of expanding," she said. "Speaking of which, what can you tell me about being Mother to a bunch of witches? I got some 'Thank-you, Mother,' at Samhain. I just thought it was a kind of honorific for leading the ritual, but it showed up again at the picnic yesterday. Witches coming to say good-bye, and it was, 'Thank-you Mother' and 'When will you visit us, Mother?'"

"Get used to it," said Kendra. "Be gracious."

"Ah, I'm serious, Mother," Daphne said.

"I wasn't being flip," said Kendra. "You are a grandee's consort. Your husband is the head of two noble houses. He has some very old family seats, a pureblood witch for a wife and another that could be seen as something more…"

"ACH!" said Daphne. "That again."

"…Something more than a family friend," Kendra continued. "He has four magical children, two of whom are now at Hogwarts, learning to handle their deep reserves of magic. Your daughter talks to dragons, sweetheart. Imagine what you look like to a witch or wizard working in a shop or office, fully occupied with earning a living and raising the children.

"You've started to wear your Black signet," stated Kendra. "How did that happen?"

"The late headmaster advised Harry to start wearing his. Harry said he treated the Black signet with caution because he suspected it might be cursed," Daphne said. "Phineas Nigellas told him he could master the ring. Harry told me Phineas Nigellas did not say the ring wasn't cursed. Harry got the Black signet from the vault and put it on. He didn't topple over dead or anything. When I noticed he was wearing it he told me the story.

"We left Tracey in charge and I took Harry to my study. I'd found this, in a little drawer in my desk, on the day he brought me back to Grimmauld Place as Lady Potter-Black. I still don't know if it materialized for me or if I'd just overlooked it before. I handed it to him and advised him I was Lord Black's, if it pleased him to claim me. It did, and he held my hand and put the ring on my finger."

Daphne held out her hands and wiggled her fingers and thumbs. She hoped everyone liked the way they looked with her engagement and wedding rings on the left and Lady Black's signet on the right. She liked them.

"Whoo," Kendra said, keeping her voice down. "Daphne, that is some hot stuff, even for a pureblood witch. Do you mind telling me what it felt like when Harry put the ring on?"

"Indescribable," said Daphne. "For both of us, I think. I told him I was his, body, soul and wand. I don't have any idea where that came from. I'm a professional woman, Mother! Still it felt really good to say it. Anyway, the late headmaster was correct, Harry stood up to a killing curse from a very skilled wizard, just stood there and took it. Who else does that? How old are the lineages behind those two rings, anyway?"

"A thousand years, at least," Kendra said. "According to the old ways, the really, really ancient beliefs, you do belong to him. You gave yourself when you willingly accepted the ring of Lord Black's consort. Did it feel like you were in the middle of some powerful magic while this was going on?"

"Mother, it was like being rolled by the surf or knocked down by a wind gust, that feeling of powerlessness," Daphne said. "We came home and went straight upstairs. I should probably stop there."

"Whatever you're comfortable with," said Kendra, more to fill in the conversational gap than anything. They took a break while awaiting the return of calm.

"Walburga called him a Black warlord," Daphne went on. "She advised him to take the fight to Lestrange, quarter neither asked nor given. Turned out they didn't go at it long enough to need one."

"Oh, I expect she was in full battle mode," Kendra said. "Seriously, though, if you two get into a scrap with someone I'd advise you to be very careful. You might find there are new sensations you weren't expecting. The Blacks were not a family to trifle with, not by anyone in their right mind, and for good reason. You'd be wise to feel your way through the new magic a little at a time. No one learns this at Hogwarts.

"Now, you're the consort of a clan chief," said Kendra. "In the old days, Mother was a fairly common honorific for a witch in your position, not that there were ever more than three or four at a time. Your people haven't had someone like you for many, many years."

"Some of them will be expecting visits," Daphne said. "Yesterday a few witches asked when I would come to see them, so I said, 'Soon.'"

"Then you have to go," said Kendra. "They're loyal. Reward them. Grace them with your presence. Kiss a baby when offered the opportunity. Think of it this way: you're the witches' member of the chief's household. You're Harry's, although not exclusively. You also belong to them in a way. If the time comes when someone has to speak up for the witches and children, you speak. He'll listen."

Daphne lapsed into silence, looking down toward the Dart. Her mother had just confirmed what she had been suspecting. Harry Potter had upended her world once again, dumping a great load of new demands on her. Well, she was a witch, wasn't she? Learning was what she did. She'd just have to be careful using what she'd be learning, because it was clearly some powerful magic.

Daphne would have preferred to have Harry, the children and her patients as her only responsibilities that summer, but she took Kendra's advice to heart. Lissette returned to _l'Anse des Sorciers_ prior to taking up studies for her mastery in healing. Daphne and Iolanthe traveled with her to pay a call on Caroline.

They stopped once on the way home, drank a little tea and used their excellent French with some Black cousins in a beautiful Norman cottage. Their visit included reciprocal toasts with thimble-sized glasses of calvados. Daphne watched Iolanthe as surreptitiously as she could manage. Iolanthe, no stranger to self-discipline, lived an abstemious life and didn't plan to change. She accepted the calvados, raised her glass at the appropriate time, and smiled in appreciation.

"What did you learn?" Daphne asked when they got back to Devon.

"The family sends their witches and wizards to Beauxbatons," said Iolanthe, "Which isn't much of a surprise. The calvados is local. Duke William stayed with an ancestor in the cottage we were just at on his way to invade England. We're related through Father who is a third cousin or thereabouts to Madame, but they're actually closer to you and me through a marriage with a Davis."

"Yes, your great-grandmother's brother. He married Madame's grandmother and after that pretty much stayed in France and raised his family," Daphne said. "I'd heard about him but no one made an effort to keep the family ties strong. It's a good thing your father reached out to all the Black branches or we'd have lost touch completely. I'm going to have to report to your Grandmother Kendra that we've officially re-established contact."

"It was nice of you to call on them, Mother," Iolanthe said. "I really enjoyed today. Lissette seems at home in _l'Anse_."

"She does, doesn't she?" asked Daphne. "Like she was born to the role."

"Long Live Caroline!" Iolanthe said. "Otherwise Lissette won't get her Mastery. I know that means a lot to her. She didn't have very good prospects until you and Madame Pomfrey gave her a chance."

"Don't leave yourself out of the picture," said Daphne. "You brought Lissette into our household. You got her away from those horrid people. You started it all."

"Maybe," Iolanthe replied, "But the fairies say she's a sprite. She just transforms in water. There may be something very old and deep working there. Have you ever felt like you were an instrument of something? Something bigger and older and stronger than magic?"

"That's a pretty common feeling, believe it or not," said Healer Daphne. "It's not wrong or dangerous, just try not to dwell on it, if you don't mind a little motherly advice. That way lies madness. Wizards and muggles both can do very bad things because they think they're being directed by God or The Greater Good or some other kind of higher knowledge or power. When that thinking takes over and displaces an individual's perspective on right and wrong, creatures like Gellert Grindelwald are the result."

"You'll tell me before I transform completely into a Gellert Grindelwald, won't you Mother?" asked Iolanthe.

"I promise," said Daphne, "And I have backup right there at home in case you don't take it well from me."

"Father."

"Yes," Daphne said, "And Tracey. My classmate Millicent Bulstrode. James Greengrass Potter…"

"Point taken," said Iolanthe.

Daphne's summer calendar filled up quickly after that. When she was finished scheduling time with her inpatients at St. Mungo's, consultations with and observation of Harry, mothering the twins and her Wednesday afternoon at #12 Grimmauld Place, she looked for an opportunity to pay a call on a Black witch.

Daphne enlisted Tracey and the two of them pored over recent invitation lists for Black family events. By late August, Daphne had managed to work in an average of two short courtesy calls per week with Black witches. She blessed numerous babies, sat for group photos and left a small token of remembrance with the families. Tracey had the idea for the design—a gold demitasse spoon with the Potter and Black arms, back to back, at the end of the handle. Iolanthe drew the design and Daphne ordered a supply from Anthony Goldstein's goblin associates.

There was one exception to the Black courtesy calls. Daphne owled Agnes Turley and asked, if Moira were to be around, if it might be convenient for Daphne to pay the Turleys a visit. She had two witches she could bring who Moira might like to meet.

Agnes owled back immediately. Daphne was welcome any time, Agnes said. She wondered what the two witches would be bringing.

"Runes," Daphne owled back. "Mother is a rune-witch. I've heard Moira likes to work with runes."

"Fine," Agnes wrote. "Let me know when you're coming so I can make sure Moira is at home and not out on the boat."

Daphne, Kendra and Hermione found a few unscheduled hours one August afternoon and made the trip to the Isle of St. Magnus. Agnes Turley welcomed them into a spotless stone house that sat on a level spot that looked high and dry but still had a beautiful view of the harbor, the boats, and the passage out to the open sea.

Agnes had one pot of tea ready, which she gave to the rune-witches and Moira, and made a second for herself and Daphne. Daphne didn't plan on splitting the party in two, but Agnes confessed she had no interest in the casting of runes, not wanting to know if her husband or any other relatives were slated for death or serious injury. Daphne thought that might be rooted in the awful price the sea people paid for their lives of freedom on the water.

Moira, on the other hand, was quite taken with runes. She knew of Kendra and Hermione from the Samhain but hadn't thought they would be coming all the way to St. Magnus to pay a call on her. Nor was she aware of the network of rune-witches over which Kendra and Hermione presided. Kendra and Hermione sat at the kitchen table with Moira and watched as she laid out her rune-stones and related what she believed they were telling her.

"Well, I'm impressed, Moira," said Kendra at one point, looking toward Hermione.

"Me too," Hermione said. "Would you be interested in getting a newsletter from us?"

Moira was hooked. She'd been recruited by Kendra Greengrass and Hermione Granger-Weasley. She looked at the other end of the room where her mother was sitting with Daphne.

"Of course, now what do you say?" asked Agnes.

"YES!" Moira said, "And thank-you."

Daphne thought at one point that she had ruined relations between the Turleys and Potters forever, but Agnes turned out to be a natural diplomat and things were repaired without permanent damage.

Daphne brought along a half-bottle of the Normandy calvados as a hostess gift and offered it to Agnes.

"Tchk," Agnes said, her face set in frozen neutrality. "Lady Daphne, we don't, in our household, you see…"

"Alcohol?" Daphne asked.

Agnes nodded.

"With the men and boats, drinking does not help them come home alive," she said. "So many tragedies in the isles. We've abstained in our family for generations."

"Oh, Agnes, forgive me," Daphne said, obviously distressed at her own gaffe. "I didn't ask first. I'm so sorry."

"Lady Daphne, there's…"

"Just Daphne is fine, Agnes," Daphne said. "I don't feel very noble at the moment."

"Alright, Daphne," said Agnes, "There's nothing to forgive. It's a lovely gift. We're both just learning about one another. Want to go look around? You've come all this way."

Agnes took Daphne in hand, leaving Moira to her newfound mentors. The house didn't have a large footprint so the rooms were compact. Someone had had a good eye for space. There were shelves, closets and bins built into corners and window benches. The white walls contrasted with the dark wood of beams and door frames. Daphne felt at home immediately, as if she were walking through The Mill.

Outdoors was just as impressive. Agnes led the way to an outcrop with a view around the entire island and the sea beyond.

"I don't want to live anywhere else," Agnes said when Daphne gushed a bit over the surroundings.

"Moira, on the other hand, is, I think, going to need a little more of what the wider world can offer. I don't see her meeting all of her requirements on St. Magnus. She's smart and capable. She picked up everything I showed her immediately, from a very young age. Her father takes her fishing. She isn't a tourist, there's no room for that. She works like the rest of the crew. I resisted as long as I could but there is something driving her. They teamed up and finally wore me down," Agnes said.

"Daphne, Moira is a very bright witch, but she is a rustic," Agnes continued. "When we got her owl and she told us she was Zelda's study partner, we didn't know what to think. What could she have in common with Tracey Davis' daughter? Yes, out here on St. Magnus we read about Tracey Davis. Then James started helping her in herbology."

Agnes didn't go on, but reached around Daphne's waist and held on. Daphne left Agnes to her thoughts, knowing silence was sometimes the best response to distress in others.

"I was afraid we'd lost her to London and manor house life," Agnes went on. "So soon. It may be inevitable, but I'd like to keep her a few more years."

Daphne took that as her cue.

"Are you still concerned?" Daphne asked. "You didn't have to let me invite myself over."

Agnes laughed at Daphne's observation.

"Well put," Agnes said. "I've adjusted. Moira hasn't asked to go anywhere all summer. Maybe she's still fine with the island, for now at least.

"No, I'm not concerned," Agnes continued. "After Samhain, and how you and your family handled everything, and meeting James, I'm not concerned. Moira understands a lot and has a good grasp of magic for her age. She's no experience with the outside world. All she knows is St. Magnus, Hogwarts, and a few harbors she's seen from her father's boat. I need to enlist you in getting her ready for the world."

"Agnes, we barely know each other," said Daphne.

"Exactly," said Agnes. "Yet I felt we had similar views on important things, children, for example, right from our first meeting. Hence this conversation, which I've been having inside my own head since Samhain. I really don't have a choice, Daphne. We have a mothering issue.

"Moira has been knitting a sweater," Agnes said. "For James. The sweaters in this part of the world have different patterns. They're like team colors. Moira's sweater has the pattern of the Turleys of St. Magnus. For a young wizard to accept a sweater with a young witch's family pattern means he is making an exclusive commitment. The wedding is a kind of confirmation of what the couple, the families and the community have long accepted. They're much too young for that, in my view, broomless flying adventures notwithstanding. But, ready or not, Agnes Turley must now face the situation. I could really use the help of a like-minded witch."

"Oh," Daphne said, shocked. "Oh."

Agnes looked at Daphne, who looked back.

"You're right, of course," Daphne said. "Oh, my. If James accepted without knowing what acceptance entailed, that could go seriously wrong. If he did understand, and turned it down because he didn't feel ready, it would break Moira's heart. Or it could."

"Not could," Agnes said. "She's got time to get over it and move on, but thole I would for her to go through that at her age."

"Shall I talk to her?" Daphne asked. "She deserves to be heard. They're thirteen. They have minds, perspectives, opinions. They just lack experience. Maybe Moira has something to say to me."

The path was wide enough for Daphne and Agnes to walk side by side. When they got back to the Turleys' Agnes filled a kettle with water and started on a fresh pot of tea.

"Moira, is it true you have your own boat?" Daphne asked. "James mentioned it one evening at dinner and I was astonished."

"Yes, I do," said Moira. "It's tied up at the jetty."

"Take Daphne down to see it, Moira," said Agnes, "I'll have tea with your colleagues and they can tell me what they think of your abilities."

Daphne and Moira left the house and walked down a graveled path toward the water. Daphne saw a small cluster of buildings near the shore. Their design reminded her of the Potters' village in Cornwall.

"Is that the town?" Daphne asked.

"Not really," said Moira. "The whole island is the Isle of St. Magnus. There isn't a proper town, as such. There are a few little businesses there. The island is all magical families so the shops have some magical function. Otherwise they wouldn't have any customers."

That observation made both of them laugh.

"Did Mum tell you about the sweater?" Moira asked, turning her head to stare into Daphne's eyes. Her face wore the same patient neutrality James had seen when they first met.

"She did," said Daphne. "Can I assure you right from the start that I am not the least bit alarmed or offended that you would think of James in that way? I have been watching him for nearly fourteen years now and were I a contemporary I would see things just as you do."

"Ah," Moira said, the one syllable nevertheless large enough to carry a little hint of surprise.

"So you haven't come to warn me off?" asked Moira.

"Not at all," said Daphne. "Your mother told me about the local custom and the sweater patterns. I can't speak for James but I'm honored, as his mother, that a young witch of your accomplishments would find him acceptable. You're saying his father and I have done a few things right."

"Here's the boat," Moira said. She pulled on a line, brought the boat to the jetty, grabbed the gunwale and worked her way down to the center. The tail of Moira's sweater pulled up and Daphne saw the knife sheath hanging from Moira's belt as she held the side close to the jetty.

"Want to get in?"

"Sure, why not?" Daphne said. "Permission to come aboard?"

"Granted," Moira said. "Well done, Daphne. I didn't know you were a Salt."

"Probably something I read in a book," Daphne said. "You may know the story, but James' father and I took our time. I studied a lot waiting for him to come to his senses. Then for some recreation I might read a book."

They sat at opposite ends of Moira's boat. Moira showed Daphne the pins where the oars seated and the arrangement for putting up a mast if the sea would tolerate sailing. Daphne's nostrils flared as she breathed in the scents of sea water, jute, and tar.

"The design is related to the longboats, they say," Moira said. "Scaled way down, for sure. They've been building them around here for eons."

Daphne smiled as she looked the length of the boat, studying Moira's rust-red hair and green eyes, her tanned face and the sweater she wore.

"Is that the Turleys' pattern?" Daphne asked, nodding.

"Yes, do you like it?"

"It's very intricate. Does it take you a long time to finish one of those?" asked Daphne.

"It can," said Moira. "How long would you like it to take?"

"James will be fifteen one year and a few weeks from right now," said Daphne. "If you wait that one year, and next summer, the two of you feel confident with the idea that the other is their intended, and you have talked it over thoroughly and understand the mutual commitment you are making, then I will have no objection. Just be sure you both want the same thing. That's the best insurance against hurt feelings."

"Zelda's always talking about you," said Moira. "Now I know why."

"Oh, it's just girls being honest with each other," Daphne said. "That always gets the best results for everyone. Should we get you back? Agnes will worry we've been blown out to sea."

"Can I owl you? Now and then?" Moira asked.

"Of course, just be sure you take Agnes into account in whatever you do," Daphne said. "I wouldn't advise citing me if you're having a disagreement over something: 'Well, I talked to Daphne and Daphne says…' That really wouldn't be right. It's obvious she dotes on you and loves to have you close. Here it is August and school is just around the corner. Keep her apprised of things at Hogwarts. I know she'll appreciate it."

Moira looked around her boat, checking the lines, making sure everything was secure. A cloud covered the sun and some mist started drifting down. Moira smiled and turned her face into the mist before leading Daphne back to land. The mist frizzed Moira's curly hair, besides putting a gloss on her red curls. Once back in the sun they stopped and looked around for the rainbow. There was a double out past the mouth of the harbor.

"One apiece," said Daphne. "Blessings on all your endeavors."

"Thank-you for coming to visit St. Magnus, Daphne, and for bringing Hermione and your mother," Moira said.

"Thank-you for being so accommodating," Daphne said. "I need to stand in the sun and get dried off."

Moira laughed.

"You need one of our sweaters," she said. "They're merino. The yarn isn't washed and bleached to death, so the oil keeps the water on the surface. Shall I start knitting?"

"Perhaps we're headed that way," Daphne said. "I wouldn't trust the runes, though. The answer would likely be much too subjective."

Back at Potter Manor, Daphne sat at her desk and wrote Agnes a thank-you note.

"Agnes," it said.

"Please accept my thanks, and that of Hermione and Mother as well, for your gracious hospitality today. Mother won't stop talking about St. Magnus. I shan't be surprised if she comes with Father on his next trip.

"Moira was wonderful. She is so wise. Honestly, Agnes, I count myself lucky to know her. We talked about the timing for the gift and I told her I would have no objection if she could put off finishing it until this time next year. If she and James are still the same and both are clear on the meaning of what they are doing, I won't stand in their way. I can generally count on James' father backing me up on these things.

You can set your own boundaries for Moira, of course. That is exclusively a Turley family matter.

Best regards,

Daphne"

Agnes' response arrived two days later.

"Daphne," Agnes began,

"All of St. Magnus seems to have seen Daphne Potter strolling the quay with Moira. The witches can't leave it alone. Please do send Kendra with your father when he comes. This place needs the excitement.

Moira is knitting, just not as quickly. She also had to pull out some of what she had done to go back and increase the size of the sweater. She is out on Mr. Turley's boat at the moment, throwing herself into fishing, I imagine. This will be her last trip before school starts. She is very good at turning off one thing to focus on another. Much better than I ever was. She will have to be done with fishing to turn her attention to her studies.

Your solution is fine with me, and with Mr. Turley. James and Moira only seem young, I believe. It should be fun watching them this year.

Best always,

Agnes"

The September first sendoff from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was boisterous, as usual. Harry, Daphne and Tracey collaborated and brought Evans and Davis for the first time. Zelda attracted quidditch players from all the houses. Several had done their research on quidditch at Hogwarts and introduced themselves to Harry and Ron Weasley. Black witches and study group faithful gravitated to Rose and Iolanthe, before moving on to introduce themselves to Tracey and Daphne.

A few Black witches took their leave of Daphne with a quick kiss of her hand, and a whispered, "Mother." Iolanthe noticed, but didn't say anything until it was time for her to board.

"Mother," she said as she pulled Daphne into a clinch. "Thank-you for everything. If you need anything at all, just owl."

"Oh, Iolanthe, please let me do for you a little longer," Daphne said.

"No, Mother," Iolanthe said. "I've been watching you since Samhain. You're going to have to accept some help."

"Your assignment is to get all Outstandings," Daphne said. "Leave the rest to me."

"Alright, for now," Iolanthe said in surrender.

She stepped back and found Daphne's right hand, then raised it to her lips.

"Thank-you, Mother," she said.


	55. Chapter 55

Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three

Iolanthe

Chapter Fifty-Five

The Trials of Leadership

Iolanthe made a decision during second year to ask Professor Bulstrode for a favor. When the time came to identify prefects she did not want to be considered. Iolanthe had several reasons—her prioritization of academics, the time she devoted to her exercise program outside of class, and her wish not to be seen as getting special treatment from someone who had been one of her carers from infancy.

Millicent respected Iolanthe's choice. She didn't try to convince her to change her mind, much as she would have appreciated Iolanthe's help managing Slytherin House. Rose, on the other hand, was an obvious Gryffindor prefect-in-waiting from the fall term of first year. Not only was she Hermione Granger-Weasley's daughter, she was a scholar, and a natural fit for the witches' study group. Rose went beyond mastering her own subjects with her study partner Iolanthe. When their work was done she was always ready to tutor, time permitting, anyone who was struggling.

Iolanthe and Rose were separated during a good part of the journey to Hogwarts at the start of their fifth year. Rose sat in the prefects' coach at the beginning of the trip. The Head Boy and Head Girl each had a presentation on duties for beginning of term. These started on the Hogwarts Express and continued until all the new students were theoretically tucked in for the evening at lights out.

Iolanthe conscripted Zelda as a traveling companion and made a tour of the entire train. The Slytherins had gotten to the end car in force and their overwhelming presence brought a gradual retreat of most of the other houses' students, the odd sweetheart, sibling or cousin excepted. Zelda held immunity because of the universal athlete's brotherhood and sisterhood that wiped away all other considerations except on the field. The largest clump of Slytherin quidditch players stood when the two entered the compartment, demanding that Zelda favor them with her presence. "Go, Zelda, GO!" was heard from somewhere. Iolanthe squeezed Zelda's shoulder and left her to charm her sweaty friends, then walked on down the aisle.

She recognized a few Black cousins and started her rounds with them. That led to introductions to those in the vicinity whom Iolanthe didn't know. Iolanthe worked the whole car, shaking hands, asking about summers, accepting a sweet when offered. She looked over at Zelda from time to time. At least one Slytherin quidditch player always seemed to be demonstrating some kind of flying maneuver with their hands, and Zelda looked transfixed. Iolanthe wondered if it were possible for Zelda Davis to be involved so deeply in another player's flying stories. Maybe she was just naturally polite while inside the circle.

Iolanthe picked Zelda up as she was heading out of the car.

"Want to go find Scorpius?" Iolanthe asked.

"Of course," Zelda said, standing up. The Slytherins made a point of shaking hands and wishing Zelda good luck on the pitch, except in her matches versus Slytherin.

Iolanthe and Zelda continued their greeting protocol out in the corridor

"Hullo, Hester," Iolanthe said as she and Zelda turned sideways to let a couple of witches pass. She noticed once again the Ravenclaw's green eyes.

"Iolanthe," said Hester Carrow, "Zelda. Been flying?"

"Every day," said Zelda. "Drills. Have to stay low, unfortunately. Ready for school?"

"Not really," Hester said. "I was having a good time being off."

The witches got around one another and went in separate directions. Hester Carrow looked so familiar to Iolanthe in profile. She wondered how they'd gotten through Hester's entire first and second years without becoming acquainted.

Rose did have some time available as the train was crossing northern England, so Iolanthe and Zelda managed to get their Rose fix. Scorpius joined them for a fine, wide-ranging scholarly chat that touched on a cornucopia of subjects. Everyone finished with the radiant glow that confirms one's intellect has been freshly scrubbed and buffed to Newtonian tolerances.

The Hogwarts Express began slowing down for its arrival at Hogsmeade Station and Rose popped up, ready for prefect duties. These would continue through the sorting, the beginning of term feast and the shepherding of the first years to the dorms.

When the sorting ended and dinner commenced inside the Great Hall, Zelda and Rose sat next to one another on a Gryffindor bench.

"What do you think?" Zelda asked Rose, flicking her eyes toward a pair of newly-sorted Gryffindors.

"Good crop, overall," Rose answered. "Some potential showing. What they choose to do with it is a separate matter."

"That's true," said Zelda. "Look at me."

"Oh, Zelda," Rose said. "You were born a star. Here, eat, you've got a quidditch season looming over you."

Two tables over, Iolanthe was assessing the new Slytherins just as Rose and Zelda were sizing up the Gryffindors. Scorpius sat next to Iolanthe, a sounding board for Iolanthe's observations, although one with the right to share a perspective.

"Who's that little googly-eyed witch? Ever see her before?" Iolanthe whispered. The witch wasn't really googly-eyed, but she did wear large-ish round-framed glasses that magnified her orbits.

Scorpius cleared his throat.

"Who is that lovely petite witch with the fashionable frames?" Iolanthe asked, adjusting. "Ever see her before? We probably should introduce ourselves."

"Perhaps, seeing no one seems to want anything to do with her," said Scorpius. "This is the first day of…however that goes."

Iolanthe assessed what was needed for the operation and formulated a plan. Walter Goyle was almost directly across from her. Walter Goyle really liked doing things for Iolanthe, for some reason. Iolanthe did not normally exploit this proclivity of Goyle's, but the little, formerly googly-eyed first year was missing out. Iolanthe leaned over the table and motioned to Goyle.

"Walter," she whispered, "I'm going to invite that first year to move. She's not meeting anyone. Can you slide a bit my way and I'll put her there next to you and across from Scorpius? She's so little, you won't be crowded."

Goyle was sliding before Iolanthe got the attention of the little witch. When she did, she motioned the witch to come and take the seat.

"Come on," she encouraged the witch. "We've got room. Come over here and meet some people."

The witch looked down and Iolanthe thought she was going to refuse, but she swung her leg over the bench, stood, and picked up her plate and silverware. While she made her way to the spot Iolanthe mouthed 'Thank-you,' to Goyle.

"Iolanthe," said Iolanthe, extending her hand as soon as the new witch sat down. "You're sitting next to Walter, and this is Scorpius. Welcome to Slytherin."

"You're all…" said the witch.

"Fifth-years," the three answered together.

"Do you have a…" Scorpius stopped, suddenly aware of how nosy that sounded.

"Can we get you more of the roast beef, ahhhhh…" said Iolanthe, taking over.

"Bridget," said the witch. "O'Brien. From Cork."

"Cork?" repeated Goyle. "I have cousins in Cork."

"You must be American, then? Every Irish American claims cousins in Cork. They descend every summer, looking for cousins," Bridget said.

"Just Cork?" Scorpius asked.

"What do you like to do, Bridget?" asked Iolanthe.

Bridget hadn't gotten past Scorpius' odd question.

"I guess," she said, "Where else would they look?"

"Dublin?" asked Iolanthe, Scorpius and Walter Goyle in unison.

"Dublin barely qualifies as Irish," Bridget sniffed, dismissing the very idea.

"Okay," said Iolanthe, making a mental note to do a little reading-in on Ireland to save herself further embarrassment. "What do you like to do? Magically, or generic, since either one works?"

"My gran taught me a few spells," she said, "How to fill a glass from a pitcher using my wand, sweep up and scrub the kitchen floor after meals, wash a window, boil water for tea. I can make a potion for a cold. I liked doing all of that."

"Great," said Iolanthe. "Got any hobbies?"

"Keeping my room clean," said Bridget.

"Reading?" Iolanthe asked.

"I can read," Bridget said. "After lessons, though, there isn't a lot of time."

"Do you like lessons?" asked Scorpius.

"If they don't go on too long," Bridget said.

"Spoken like a true Slytherin," said Walter, putting puzzled faces on his housemates.

James and Moira were sitting across from one another at the Hufflepuff table, in a scrum of second, third and fourth-years, all of whom seemed to be talking at once. The hyper-social 'Puffs it seemed were all bent on both describing what they had been doing and finding out what their housemates had been doing without need of separation between the two disciplines. James struggled against the dissonance that at times threatened him with a disabling dose of vertigo. Moira kept her face turned toward her plate and imagined she was sitting, drifting in her boat, a hand line over the side, going up and down on slow, perfect swells.

Moira looked up from her plate and saw James looking at her from across the table. She gave him a big smile.

"Welcome back," she said. He could barely hear her in the cacophony.

"Isn't it lovely?" he asked. He'd heard a phrase somewhere: Easy to look at. That was Moira, at least for him. James reflected on how much he had missed that smile.

"Runes?" James asked, figuring anything else wouldn't get through anyway.

"Uh-huh," said Moira. "Lots."

James held her eyes, but there wasn't any more coming.

"Good," he finally said, nodding. "Glad to hear it."

Doom was not imminent, it seemed. Surely she would have told him.

The great wave of feasting conversation gradually quieted down. Cake, ice cream and strawberry shortcake were well underway when the headmistress gave her welcoming speech and announcements. Her timing was perfect, as always, and only the most desultory eaters had to scramble to finish up before dismissal.

"This way," said Rose as she helped shepherd first years to the Gryffindor Tower common room.

"This way," said Iolanthe as she slipped her arm into Bridget's to conduct her to the conclave of Slytherins heading down to the dungeons.

"Which way?" asked James. He had a short arrival message ready to send by owl, but if Moira was headed to the dorm it could wait until morning.

"Common Room? Welcome the new students?" Moira said.

James waved his little piece of parchment.

"I can owl this in the morning," he said. "You should do one too."

"Not a lot to tell," said Moira. "Mum brought me by side-along and practically deposited me in the carriage. So I made it from Hogsmeade to the front doors."

"I'm glad you're here," said James, trying to convey assured sincerity.

One of the upper class Hufflepuffs heard the last of the exchange.

"So," he said, "This business survived the summer with you two at opposite ends of the country?"

Before James could say anything Moira took the floor.

"Not really your concern," she advised. "But, yes, it did. Go forth and spread the word, if you feel compelled."

The student turned red and disappeared into the crowd.

"Wow," said James. He looked around. "We need to talk."

"We do," Moira said. "Just not tonight. If we coordinate the Owlery tomorrow sometime, do you promise not to lead me astray like last time?"

"Promise," said James.

"Good. Now it looks like the Hufflepuffs need us to make the newbies welcome, if you're up for that," Moira said.

The Slytherins had convened in the common room that stretched out beneath the lake. Millicent Bulstrode gave her talk about Salazar Slytherin and the ideals of Slytherin House. She required mutual respect among the Slytherins regardless of age, gender or blood status. That rule was non-negotiable. If anyone had complaints about anything else, she held regular office hours and she would be glad to hear their views. She did not like to hear about one Slytherin contradicting another in class discussions and had a particularly low tolerance for it when it happened in a double class with another house. Slytherin solidarity took precedence over academic dispute. If the disagreement merited, the students could come to her and she would moderate a debate before the house. Be advised she had a rule, if any two students wanted to debate the point, she would formulate the resolution and convene the house. Just before time commenced the parties would draw lots to determine which position they would support, Pro or Con, and would have to show up equally well-prepared for either.

With that, Millicent turned the young men over to their prefects and withdrew with the witches to young, dewy Walburga's portrait. Millicent told the newcomers a bit about Walburga Black, how in life she had been recognized as one of the most skilled witches in Britain, and her place in Slytherin history. Walburga's portrait still watched over the witches of Slytherin House, and in return, the witches held her in the highest esteem. Each new class was introduced when they arrived so Madame Walburga would be able to keep track of her charges.

"This is the most fun thing all year," Iolanthe advised Bridget.

There was only one other first year witch in Slytherin, a Londoner with rosy cheeks and a haircut that could have been a clone of Tracey's.

"Cordelia MacMillan, Madame," she said in a fluty voice as she dropped into a very gracious curtsy. "So honored to be introduced."

"Welcome to Slytherin House, dear," said Walburga's portrait. "I hope you enjoy being here with us. Were you studying formally before this year?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Cordelia. "Miss Annabelle's School for Young Witches, in London."

"I thought I heard a Miss Annabelle accent," Walburga said, obviously in full accord with Annabelle's results. "Elocution was so important when I was a girl and now it is most out of fashion. Have a good year."

Entry interview concluded, Cordelia curtsied once more and returned to the group.

"And we only have one more first-year witch tonight, Madame," said Millicent as she waved Bridget over.

"Bridget O'Brien, Madame," Bridget said, nearly forgetting to curtsy and doing a clumsy job of it when she remembered.

"And where do you hail from, Bridget?" asked Walburga.

"Cork, ma'am," said Bridget.

"Cork? I wonder how long it has been since we've had someone from Cork? Professor?"

"I can't remember anyone, Madame," said Millicent. "There have been both witches and wizards from Ireland but I don't remember anyone from Cork."

"Well," said Madame. "No matter. You are a Slytherin now, Miss O'Brien. We'll give you the tools to do anything you want in life, all you have to do is pick them up. Slytherin House is honored to have Cork represented. Have a good year."

"Thank-you, Madame," Bridget said before rejoining Iolanthe.

Iolanthe reached around to Bridget's shoulder and pulled her tight, then let her go with a, "Good job."

Millicent announced the end of the traditional introduction ceremony and the prefects took charge of Bridget and Cordelia.

"Thanks," said Bridget as she waved good-bye to Iolanthe.

When everyone had left, Iolanthe went to her room and got Astoria's copy of the _Odyssey_. She was headed to the common room for a little fireside time and stopped to say hello to Walburga.

"Kind of thin this year," the portrait observed.

"Maybe we got quality, not quantity," Iolanthe noted.

"There's no rule that says we can't have both," Walburga came back.

"True," acknowledged Iolanthe. "I didn't get a chance to meet Cordelia but Bridget appears to have some potential. First impressions, of course."

"They've all got potential, or we wouldn't get them. I'll be honest and concede that Godric's hat knows its business," said Walburga. "How is your cousin Zelda?"

"Great," said Iolanthe. "We were together on the train. I took her to our car and the quidditch team mobbed her. Our quidditch team! They even wished her good luck, except when Gryffindor is playing Slytherin."

"And your father?"

"Father isn't his old self, Madame," Iolanthe admitted. "I don't know if he ever will be. He seems fine, physically. Mother has gotten him appointments with all the specialists. No one is supposed to be up walking around after what he went through, and she thinks that might be an issue. There are no standard treatments because there have never been any patients."

Walburga liked the way Iolanthe put the Potter dilemma and stifled a laugh. Iolanthe caught the bug and didn't stifle hers, so they enjoyed it together.

"He got the red belt out of it, so he really is Master Harry now," Iolanthe went on.

"A fat lot of good a red belt will do him if his gizzard is fried," said the suddenly disputatious Walburga.

"He credits his signet with making a significant contribution to his victory over Lestrange," said Iolanthe. "He doesn't dwell, but you and the late headmaster also figure prominently, up here."

Iolanthe tapped her temple with her finger.

"Yes," she went on, "When you made him a Black warlord you put cement in his spine. Mother's as well. She accepted her Black signet from Master Harry and the experience was transformative, she tells me. Lady Daphne has taken me with her to pay calls on our Black cousins. She blesses the witches and children and kisses every baby she comes across. She's owling little bunches of herbs to the sisters as gifts on the Old Holidays. She's a phenomenon."

Walburga seemed to swell up inside her frame, two-dimensional or not.

"THAT sounds like a true Lady Black, dear," she said.

"Don't I know it," replied Iolanthe. "I'll consider myself lucky if I'm mentioned in the same breath as her, not that I deserve it."

"SHUSH!" ordered Walburga, turning up the heat. "Of course you deserve it. You haven't even finished school, think what you'll be when you've had a little seasoning. You're a Black, and a Slytherin through and through."

"Madame," said Iolanthe, "There's a reason I love our chats. With your permission…"

Iolanthe curtsied and walked to the common room with Homer.

Rose and Iolanthe had been working their way through their fifth-year textbooks for several weeks before they actually arrived at Hogwarts. They knew their study time would be more constricted than ever. Rose would be doing prefect duties, taking turns on corridor patrol, attending meetings and so on. Iolanthe had study group, monitoring all her Black cousins, her exercise program and two competing interests: Healing and magical creatures.

Iolanthe knew the time was coming when she would have to make a decision about narrowing the scope of her studies to focus on one principal field. Much as she loved her animal friends, she also felt drawn to healing. She was aware she was probably mirroring Daphne, who had influenced her more than any other single human being. Did that matter? For as long as Iolanthe could remember, Daphne had been coming home from work aglow with the pride and satisfaction she got from spending time with a broken witch or wizard and treating them for whatever mental malady was tormenting them, seeing them stabilize, then the beginnings of progress, until, Merlin willing, they walked out the door and back to the family, whole once more.

Daphne and the young Iolanthe had spent many hours together, doing chores, cleaning up, one sitting on a wooden stool while the other was in the tub, just talking about all the magical phenomena that could accidentally or intentionally cause a witch or wizard harm. Once she learned of Harry's close call in Knockturn Alley, Iolanthe returned to the subject again and again, whenever a new question about the injury or its treatment occurred to her. She'd seen his scars every time they'd gone swimming, even talked to Harry about it. It had taken years to work her mind around the idea that her father, who she imagined was an alloy of iron, magic and muscle, had been so vulnerable. Eventually, Ralph Mann, Healer Merlin and Daphne Greengrass Potter had all taken on miracle worker status in young Iolanthe's mind, since the curse that had gotten to her powerful father would have killed a lesser man, and even Harry had needed extraordinary luck and magic to recover.

Iolanthe, at fifteen, was definitely feeling the pull. When she was on the pitch in the morning going through her workout routine she used one part of her mind to count, pushups, sprints or laps around, and another part to meditate on healing. Did she have a vocation? It was time to make an appointment with Madame Pomfrey.

On the day after their arrival for fall term, the Hufflepuff third years had a free period just before lunch. Normally, when an entire year of a house was free, the Head would schedule a house meeting or come up with something to keep the group from reaching critical mass. Idle minds, et cetera. Divine Providence found some way to leave Moira and James at liberty for one period on their first day of classes, and James knew it was not good to look too closely at the magic, lest it go away. The empty Owlery was truly bonus magic.

"First things first," James said, stopping in front of one of the Black owls. "Take this to Mum and Dad?"

The owl gave an answering hoot. James imagined it was saying, "Sure, why not?"

"Are you a regular with any of these folks?" James asked Moira.

"No," she said, "Any of the school owls will do."

James looked around.

"I don't see a school owl," he said, "Here."

He held out his hand.

"Know the way to St. Magnus?" he asked one of the Black owls, holding up Moira's parchment roll. That owl also hooted in the affirmative.

"How many owls do you have?" Moira asked.

"None," James replied. "They're Black owls. When Dad inherited his title. Let's see. I'll start over. Dad inherited a title. He didn't want it because it came to him when his godfather, the only real family he had left, was killed in a fight with some Death Eaters. Some land came with it, and it makes a little money, so Dad, as a memorial to his godfather, uses it for the benefit of all the Blacks. He had an owl that he really loved, but it was killed, too, so he wanted to make sure the Blacks, which you could call his unintentional family, could always write home. That's the reason for the Black owls."

"Huh," said Moira. "Two years at Hogwarts and I never heard of that."

"I guess we learn something every day," said James. "Now. I heard something I want to pass on. It is working for some people we know, so I believe we can make it work for us.

"I like you. I have a feeling you like me. I don't mind if you say it or don't say it, so don't feel pressured. The point is we don't go any further and get ourselves distracted. We don't have to talk about it all the time or get ahead of ourselves while we need to stay focused. If either of us changes their mind we promise to have the courtesy to say so and not let the other find out by accident."

"Oh, James," Moira said, as she all but jumped to grab him. "Of course I like you. Do you think we can we put the other things off for at least another year or two?"

"I don't think we have much of a choice," said James. "It would probably be best to finish at least third year before, you know…"

He actually giggled.

"We have a lot of work ahead of us if we want to go out on our own and earn our way and we'll be able to concentrate if we decide together this is fine for now. If you're agreeable?"

"Done," said Moira. She let him go and stepped back a good three feet, making her just another student come to the Owlery to send a message.

They kept their voices down as they descended the steps because the stone staircases and corridors were notorious for conveying voices in conversation. Even so, they stuck to innocuous topics.

"Where is your boat?"

"Out of the water," said Moira. "Bottom up, getting scraped, patched and re-tarred. When that is done they'll put a big piece of oiled canvas over it until just before I get home in June. Who takes care of your greenhouse when you're away?"

"There is a group of outdoor elves that started working for Grandfather Fabio, then expanded when Teddy's business got bigger than he could handle alone, then again for me," said James. "They'll keep up with the fresh fruit and veg as long as this crop lasts. Around December everything will be finished and they'll take the dead plants to the compost. I'll start the new sets at Easter break. The herbs are different. Rosemary is a shrub. All they have to do is water it."

"No one has a greenhouse on St. Magnus," Moira said. "I wonder why?"

"Good question," said James. "We need fresh food. Do you get a lot of hail? Anything that would make greenhouses impractical? There have to be charms for that."

"I'll look into it," Moira said. "Could be an opportunity."

"Good thinking," said James. "Lunch? I'll buy."

"Will you? But what will you expect in return?" Moira asked. "I'll pay my own way, thank-you."

"I respect your independence," James said.

Hogwarts settled into its fall term rhythm. Zelda became the Gryffindor seeker, the position on which she'd always set her sights. She was a great success but was missed in goal. Several other students, all good flyers, were given their chance but none had the goal-killing instinct of Zelda Davis. On the positive side, everyone including Zelda admitted the Gryffindor matches were much more exciting without every opponent facing shutout ignominy from the opening whistle.

James and Zelda still celebrated the first two birthdays of the fall term. Iolanthe exercised her usual creativity in selecting birthday gifts. At breakfast on James' birthday, Iolanthe made her way to the Hufflepuff table with a box tied up with black and yellow ribbon. James and Moira were in their usual places in the middle.

"Moira," Iolanthe said in greeting.

"Iolanthe," Moira replied.

They studied one another's faces for a few beats.

"For James," Iolanthe said as she gave her package a little shake. A muffled clanking sounded.

"So I see," said Moira. Neither one wanted to look away first.

"James, I think Iolanthe has something for you," Moira said, breaking the impasse.

"Happy birthday, James," Iolanthe said, depositing the package on James' plate before putting him in a hammerlock and making him submit to a kiss to the top of his head.

"Thank-you," James said, reaching around Iolanthe's waist and pulling her tight. He reached for the package as they disentangled.

"Merlin!" James exclaimed as he folded back the box's flaps. Inside was a set of three gardening tools, a large trowel, a short-handled hoe and a three-tined fork. The handles were hefty, man-sized oaken items with 'JGP' burned into the wood. The tools were steel, one piece, and polished to the point they could have been mistaken for platinum. They had been hand-forged, the dimples from the hammer blows still showing where the steel had been heated and drawn out on the anvil. The raw steel had a very thin coating of oil to protect it from rust.

James took out the fork and handed it across the table to Moira, who took it and turned it over, looking at it from every angle. She held the handle while testing the mounting to see if there was any give or wobble. There wasn't.

"If you don't lose them you'll never have to buy another," Moira said to James. "I doubt you can wear them out."

"Where?" Moira asked, turning to Iolanthe.

"Me, the woodlanders and a goblin," Iolanthe replied. Moira nodded, but didn't go further.

James looked at the staff table to see if Professor Longbottom was at breakfast. Neville noticed and raised his hands in a 'What?' gesture. James held up the trowel. Neville smiled and got up from his seat.

"What do we have?" he asked as he arrived.

"Hullo, Professor Longbottom," said James, Iolanthe and Moira together.

"A little birthday gift from Iolanthe," James said as he handed over the trowel.

"Merlin, I guess so," said Neville. "Feel that balance. Initials burned right into the wood. No problem identifying your tools if they walk away. I'd lock them up anyway."

Neville turned to Iolanthe. "Did you design these?" he asked.

Iolanthe nodded Yes.

"Happy birthday, James," Neville said. "And well done, Iolanthe. You might want to start your own line of gardening supplies."

"Every magical gardener would have to have a set, I imagine," said Iolanthe as a little speculation crept into her voice. The outlandish nature of Iolanthe's surmise caught up with everyone. Even Moira smiled.

Iolanthe's gift to Zelda was also an original. She had drawn up a fanciful dragon with a snitch clutched in a forehand. Anthony Goldstein's goblin contacts had worked from the drawing to create a substantial sterling silver pin for Zelda to wear on a dress or blazer lapel. Zelda was ecstatic, as usual.

"It's us, isn't it?" she gushed as she clutched Iolanthe.

"I don't know," said Iolanthe, "Why do you say that?"

"The snitch is me, for quidditch, and the dragon, of course…"

"OH!" said Iolanthe as she caught on at last. "I'm the dragon. For Gorr, I take it?"

"Very good," said Zelda. "I have to wear it. Where?"

"I wouldn't put it on the robe, it could get caught on something and fall off and you wouldn't even know it," said Iolanthe.

"Here," said Rose. She reached for Zelda's Gryffindor necktie, ran the pin through the silk and fastened the clasp. Then she touched the dragon with her wand.

"A little sticking charm and…"

"Tie clasp," said Iolanthe.

"If you don't have to take the tie off for anything today, dueling or whatever, leave it alone. Otherwise you can loosen the knot and just pull it over your head," Rose concluded.

Iolanthe picked a day to give herself a deadline for asking for an appointment with Madame Pomfrey, otherwise she suspected she would procrastinate in order to put off her decision.

"Come in, Miss Potter, sit down," Madame Pomfrey said when Iolanthe arrived at her office. "Tea? How is your mother? When you write you must remind her she owes me a visit, at her convenience of course. Everything fine with you? No complaints?"

"No, Madame Pomfrey," said Iolanthe. "I came for some counseling. I've always been interested in healing, which was probably inevitable for Daphne Potter's daughter, and I realize I have to make a decision."

"Iolanthe, how nice of you to consider our profession," Madame Pomfrey said. "I'm thrilled when any young witch or wizard with your gifts thinks of healing. What can I do to encourage you to dig a little deeper? I sense you're at the speculative stage."

"Exactly," said Iolanthe. "The question is do I want to do it or not? I'm starting fifth year so how do I find the answer?"

"You come in and work with me," said Madame Pomfrey. "We start with simple things like wand work around the ward, keeping everything clean, tidy and organized, learning the uses of all the standard potions, helping me at the patients' bedsides. Theory is reading and tutorials with me. You get credit by examination as in any other class."

"Oh," said Iolanthe. "How do I sign up?"

"You just did, if you want to start," Madame Pomfrey assured her. "It's early enough in the term, and I only have two other students. Do you have room in your schedule?"

Iolanthe did not really have room in her schedule but she thought she could squeeze in one period daily with Madame Pomfrey and she'd use her organizing prowess to manage the reading outside class. The additional course required conferences with Professors Bulstrode and McGonagall, both of whom advised her they would be consulting regularly with Madame Pomfrey and would not hesitate to pull her out until next term if she showed signs of having taken on more than she could handle.

"I hear you're starting another class," Hugo said the next morning as they were warming up on the quidditch pitch.

"Word travels fast around here," said Iolanthe. "I'll adjust. It will work."

"Healing's useful," Hugo said, "Unlike, for example, runes."

"Hey, I can think of some toes you're stepping on there, future auror," said Iolanthe, "You know whose, too. I must confess, though, I'll leave runes to Grandmother and Moira."

 _"_ _Oh, dragon scat. We really are going to get her, aren't we?"_ Iolanthe was caught completely off guard by the thought, which had struck with such certainty. To get her disciplined mind back she dropped into a starting position and took off across the grass on her first wind sprint of the morning.

Something told her it was already a done deal. Right under her nose! She had not seen that coming. Odd. Iolanthe had had great success controlling everything going on inside her orbit for fifteen years, including dragons and adders. Who did that little banshee think she was, flying in from her barnacle-encrusted rock to bedazzle Iolanthe's brother? Who did she think she was dealing with?

Iolanthe was subject to those kinds of unproductive musings for as long as it took to get herself into a good sweat, then she hit a plateau where clear thinking dominated. What if Moira made James happy? Was it even relevant that something about her rubbed Iolanthe the wrong way? Did every female in close proximity have to be a perfect fit for her as Rose was? Iolanthe didn't want to spoil something so agreeable for James, did she? Iolanthe resolved to make her peace with Moira and the whole situation.

Two things occurred to her when she reached her conclusion. She had no idea how to go about keeping her resolution to make peace. Nor did she know if Moira had any interest in making peace with her.

For their part, Moira and James felt a great sense of relief once they had come to their understanding. Secure in the knowledge their feelings were reciprocal and they had a common goal, both were free to do all their mutual business over three meals a day and get on with their educations outside of meal time. James spent about half of each day in the greenhouses, either in a formal herbology class, working independently or as an assistant to Professor Longbottom or Professor Emeritus Sprout. Moira thrived in all of her practical classes—herbology, runes and potions. History and Theory of Magic were her personal bedevilments.

She was born to fish, with a natural attraction to hard physical work and tangible results regardless of the area of effort. Moira and Zelda were alike in that regard. Both were oriented toward action and not inclined to reflection. Moira raised the issue at their first study session of the term.

"We aren't natural historians," Moira began.

"I know," said Zelda. "What do you think we should do?"

"Find a way to make it fun?" Moira tried.

"I don't know about that," Zelda said, "I can't fly a history book."

"Do you like drills? We could each identify the main points of each lesson and do Q and A," Moira said.

"We have to try something," Zelda said, "Start somewhere. Might as well be drills."

By the first of October the Hogwarts Potters and their associates were well-settled-in to their fall term schedules. Iolanthe didn't find working a few hours a week in the hospital ward to be a burden. Far from it. Madame Pomfrey started everyone out at the bottom, her theory being they wouldn't need an explanation for certain things later on if they'd seen how it all fit from the beginning. Iolanthe was giving some time without any further burden on her intellectual capacities.

James and Moira didn't need to see one another all the time because they had worked out their understanding of where they stood. Their deal meant they were free to pursue classes and activities whether in one another's company or not, because they'd sit down to a meal together soon and catch up.

Rose kept a close eye on Iolanthe. When Iolanthe stumbled the previous year, it was her first experience with a set of challenges that combined to slow her usual stately progress. Iolanthe hadn't liked the feeling that there was any conceivable circumstance that could impede her. Rose watched carefully because she feared Iolanthe might have set herself up for a repeat when she added her Healer studies to her schedule. Rose thought at the time that Iolanthe ought to drop one subject and come back to it later if she thought it truly critical.

Iolanthe's plan was to get through fall term with her full schedule then adjust for spring term, if she wanted to stay in the Healer curriculum. Iolanthe was quite open and honest with Rose.

"You will get me through this," she said. "You're critical to my plan for eventual mastery. I'm all over the place but you have perfect instincts for finding the critical ideas in all the dross. Just don't let me put pressure on you or hold you responsible for my success."

"Of course not," Rose said, "How such an idea even came to be formed is beyond me."

"I knew you'd understand," said Iolanthe.

Cordelia and Bridget didn't take up much of Iolanthe's time, other than being available at dinner, should they wish to sit nearby. They did, a surprising number of times. Iolanthe thought they'd prefer sitting with second or third-years, due to being closer in age. Those cohorts were quite happy keeping to themselves, though, so the two first-year witches often landed with Iolanthe and Scorpius. Walter Goyle wasn't exactly a regular, but he did make appearances.

"How's the roast beef?" Iolanthe asked Goyle one evening.

Goyle worked his wad of meat to one side and said "Good" out the other.

"Want some?" Goyle added, reaching for the platter.

Most forms of meat repelled Iolanthe, who had made friends with so many kinds of animals that consuming flesh felt like cannibalism.

"I couldn't do it justice," Iolanthe told him, trying to enhance her feeble excuse with a passable tone of regret.

"Perhaps these Slytherins here?" Iolanthe went on, looking at Bridget and Cordelia.

"I don't eat a lot of meat," Cordelia said in her perfect, fluty tones.

"Thank-you," said Bridget, reaching for the serving fork.

Goyle held the platter steady while Bridget helped herself to two good-sized slices of prime beef.

Iolanthe watched Bridget carefully from that moment forward. Bridget's size and her comments about things she liked to do were a bit off, or so Iolanthe suspected. Whose pastime is cleaning their room? If you like your spaces clean and tidy that's one thing. Iolanthe was all in favor. At the same time, Iolanthe liked other things, like observing dragons, getting to know the wildlife in and around Potter Manor, documenting the activities of water sprites.

"Not constructive, Potter," she told herself. "Don't get distracted."

Iolanthe and Rose walked and talked their way out of the castle one crisp October day and encountered Bridget on a stone bench with her charms book and wand.

"What's up, Bridget?" Iolanthe asked. "Do you know Rose?"

"Trying to charm this match," Bridget said, "No, I'm Bridget O'Brien."

Rose took Bridget's hand and said, "Rose Granger-Weasley. Delighted."

Bridget's eyes widened a little when Rose introduced herself. Her round-framed glasses made it look like they widened a lot. Rose didn't mention it. Bridget didn't look like she could help it.

"What's the charm?" Rose asked, appraising Bridget's wand as she spoke. "Match to darning needle? Match lit without striking? Levitate the match?"

"Darning needle," said Bridget.

"Let's see your wand," Rose said. She held Bridget's wand in her two hands, turning it over, looking at it from every angle. She wrapped the wand in a fold of her robe and gave it a little rub, took it out and inspected it, put it back and rubbed it again.

"What's going on, fella?" Rose asked when she'd gotten the wand buffed to her satisfaction. "Don't feel the magic? Well, you'll get there. Miss Bridget is patient. Give yourself time."

"Okay, say the enchantment out loud," Rose directed.

"Incendio Trans…" was as far as Bridget got before looking down at her textbook.

"Incendio Transmutis," said Rose. "Repeat."

"Incendio Transmutis," Bridget said.

"Once more?" said Rose, reaching down and closing Bridget's book.

"Incendio Transmutis," Bridget repeated.

"You need a darning needle but all you have is a match. It's important that you transform the match into the needle. You can't fail. You need to get to darning. You take a deep breath, see the needle in front of you and speak the enchantment…Incendio Transmutis," Rose said as she gave the tip of Bridget's wand a little bobble over the match, which instantly changed into a darning needle.

"Very good," Rose said to the borrowed wand. "Help her out, for me? Please?"

She handed the wand back.

"Now I have a needle," said Bridget.

"Try changing it back," Rose said.

"Uh…" said Bridget.

"Learn everything with its reversing spell or charm," said Rose. "It saves a whole lot of frustration. Plus, if a spell goes seriously off the rails you might not have time to look up its reversing partner. Use 'ferre originalis.' Even if it's wrong you won't blow anything up."

"Ferre originalis," said Bridget, pointing the wand and giving it a gentle shake. The match was back.

"Good," said Rose, "Now Incendio Transmutis."

Four or five transmutations later everyone agreed Bridget had the match-to-darning needle process down, along with a useful counter spell. Iolanthe picked up the textbook.

"Want to walk? Just down to the lake and back," Iolanthe said. "Stretch our legs, get some air."

"Okay," Bridget said as she slipped the wand into the little wand pocket inside her robe.

"That was some real progress, Bridget," said Iolanthe as they walked. "What do you think was holding you back?"

"I couldn't put the charm and the wand motion together," Bridget said.

"Could be," said Iolanthe. "You caught on to the advantage of memorization first, then giving it a try with the wand? Looking back at the book while you're trying to charm or enchant puts an unnecessary obstacle in your way."

"You're so far ahead of me," Bridget said. "I thought it would all be like pouring water."

"It is," Rose observed, "but you've mastered pouring water. Working that over and over won't do anything for your skills as a witch but get you lots of glasses of water. Glasses of water you probably don't need, if I may so observe. So, you learn to turn a match into a darning needle, and back again. Then you can do that over and over as needed but you don't learn anything new from the fortieth or fiftieth repetition. Time to learn something new."

"Um-hmmm…" Iolanthe said, "Learn something new, repeat. Learn something new, repeat. Witch Life!"

"Why I get up in the morning," said Rose. "In addition to sending a couple of people an owl each."

"But you'd get up in the morning even if they weren't there," Iolanthe said, kind of insistently.

"Well, I should hope so," said Rose.

"Bridget, tell us about Cork," Iolanthe said. "I've never been to Cork. Have you been, Rose?"

"Never," said Rose, "But I'd like to go."

"Why?" Bridget asked.

"I've never been there," Rose said, "It sounds charming, I'd like to see what the witches are doing, and I might learn something."

Bridget stared at her.

"It's not very pleasant for witches," Bridget said, but she didn't pursue it.

"Did Madame Bulstrode mention the giant squid in her chat the other night?" Iolanthe asked. "I've forgotten if she did."

"I don't remember a giant squid," said Bridget.

"Well, our lake has lots of unusual characteristics," said Iolanthe. "Among them is it is home to a fresh water giant squid. That's not supposed to be a thing, but Hogwarts has determined that it is."

Bridget stood on the shore, looking out over the lake.

"How do you know all of this stuff?" Bridget asked.

"We started right where you are now," said Rose. "Not entirely blank slates, and neither are you, and we set out to learn."

"Which we did," Rose and Iolanthe said in unison.

The talk went on as they stood tossing rocks into the lake. Iolanthe and Rose got enough from Bridget to start filling in some biographical notes. After dinner, Rose walked up next to Iolanthe as everyone was leaving the Great Hall.

"What do you think?" Iolanthe asked when they'd gotten to a reasonably private spot.

"About?" Rose asked.

"Bridget," said Iolanthe.

"Hard to say," said Rose. "She was having a hard time with that transmutation but it was a common beginner's error. Whomever it was who taught her those water-pouring and cleaning spells had probably used verbal instruction and repetition, and when Bridget tried to shift over to a spellbook she forgot how she'd mastered the spell before trying the wand. We walked her back a step and she started again and was successful."

"You walked her back a step," Iolanthe said, "And you got her started again."

"I didn't want to sound vain," Rose said. "Even though I am."

"So you practiced on me," said Iolanthe. "Keep working at it, you'll get there.

"Bridget hasn't had our sorts of advantages," Iolanthe said. "Cordelia has, though. Some of them, at least. She's a product of Miss Annabelle's. I suspect her parents left no stone unturned. She was poached in magical ambition."

Rose started to laugh, passed through the uncontrollable phase, and finally regained her self-control.

"Poached in magical ambition? Where do I go to get some of your fresh insights?"

"I was serious," Iolanthe said. "Bridget told us she was raised by her grandmother because her parents like to travel. It sounds like if they've got provisions for a week they're off to Angkor Wat or something like it and Bridget stays home with Gran. The MacMillans put Cordelia in Miss Annabelle's. I bet they've got a mate for her already penciled-in in the MacMillan stud book."

"Bridget's gran takes in magical boarders?" asked Rose.

"Uh-huh. In Cork," said Iolanthe. "I'll keep an eye on her. We might have to bring her into the fold."

"She's still a first year," said Rose. "We have to find a balance. She needs to learn those first year lessons."

"We'll proceed with caution," Iolanthe agreed, "But we won't let her fend for herself. Not totally."

"We can do that," said Rose, wondering how they would fit yet another project into their list.


	56. Chapter 56

Wheels Within Wheels

Iolanthe

Chapter Fifty-Six

Resolutions, New Year's and Otherwise

Harry planned Black Christmas for the first Saturday in December, even though it wasn't Iolanthe's birthday, because he wanted to make it possible to maximize the Black scholars in attendance. James thought and thought about Black Christmas and Moira.

James didn't think it would be appropriate for him to invite Moira on his own. He also didn't think Daphne would invite her as a favor to him, unless she knew Agnes and Mr. Turley wouldn't object. He wanted to go because he always enjoyed being at the Black estate during Christmas season, surrounded by interesting witches and wizards. Besides, it was Iolanthe's official birthday celebration, and he had only missed one of those in his entire life.

James had been mulling over his dilemma for a week when he awoke one morning with his mind free of conflicting thoughts. James wanted to be wherever Moira was. If Moira was invited to Cornwall, James wanted to be in Cornwall. If she couldn't attend Black Christmas, for whatever reason, James would remain at Hogwarts. Clarifying where they stood with one another led to the resolution of a number of questions and conundrums in James' mind.

He was working his hardest at Hogwarts to prepare for the time when he and Moira would be able to make plans for their future lives together. As long as they were on the same path, each had a place, as close to the other as practicable.

"Don't the Potters have a big party coming up?" Moira asked as she and James chatted over breakfast one morning.

"Um-hmm," said James as he tried to swallow his mouthful of scrambled eggs before speaking. He took a pull on his glass of chocolate milk. "Black Christmas. Dad does it as an excuse to get all the Blacks together and drink toasts and spread cheer. It's also Iolanthe's birthday party."

"Are you going?"

"Don't think so," said James.

"When is it?" Moira asked.

"First Saturday in December," James said.

"So you can go," stated Moira.

James looked at her. He knew where she was headed.

"You haven't been invited," James said. "I tried to figure out how to get Mum to work with Mrs. Turley to get your parents' permission and send you an invitation and my brain got tired. I got up one morning and realized I didn't want to think about it. If you get an invitation, I'll go. If you don't, we'll be here. It's a Saturday. You can spend the entire day with me in the greenhouses. I'll show you how to fertilize venomous tentacula without getting bitten."

It was Moira's turn to give total concentration to keeping her breakfast inside her mouth. She held her napkin to her lips and closed her eyes so she wouldn't look at James and lose everything. Eventually she was able to take a drink of the water in the tumbler before her and return to normal conversation.

"James…" she began, before James put his foot down.

"Moira, it resolves all the questions," he said. "They can arrange for both of us, or we can enjoy a weekend here. It's pretty simple. We'll be happy either way."

Something definitive in James' tone ended the conversation and they turned to other subject matter.

Three owls flew into the Great Hall together during breakfast on the last Saturday in November, swooping down to the Hufflepuff's table and dropping three envelopes between James and Moira. James picked one up and handed it to Moira. Then he picked up a second and handed it to Moira. The third one was James.'

Each opened an envelope and began to read. They looked at each other, huge grins going back and forth. Then they went back to reading.

James had a note from Harry and Daphne with details of the arrangements they'd made to bring the Potter-Black delegation from Hogwarts to Cornwall on the Friday before Black Christmas. Daphne had corresponded with the Turleys and they had given permission for Moira to leave school and return with the others.

Moira had a letter from her mother with an attached permission letter addressed to the Headmistress confirming parental approval for the overnight trip. The other envelope held an invitation to Black Christmas, to be observed at the Black estate in Cornwall on the first Saturday in December.

"Turned out all right, I'd say," Moira observed. "What do I take to wear?"

"It's a wide spectrum," James assured her.

Iolanthe, true to her word, kept an eye on Bridget. She didn't want to be obvious about it, but the young witch arrived with some big gaps in her knowledge. Iolanthe's theory was that Bridget's gran had taught her some useful household spells to enhance her work around the grandmother's little magical boarding house. Unfortunately for Bridget she hadn't thought to give her a good grounding in some of the basic magical skills and practices, and Bridget's magical education was being affected in a negative way.

Iolanthe had observed Rose inspecting Bridget's wand and giving it a little field cleaning while they were helping her learn to change the match to a darning needle and back again. Bridget didn't appear to have an actual relationship with her wand. If she didn't it wasn't much of a mystery why the wand didn't feel like putting itself out for her.

Iolanthe spotted Bridget in the common room with her first year's Standard Book of Spells. She went to her room and came back with her little canvas wand cleaning kit.

"What's new in Cork?" she said as she sat down across from Bridget and dropped the kit on the table between their chairs. She pulled out her wand and laid it on the table beside the kit.

"There's very seldom anything new," said Bridget, looking up from her book.

"What are you doing?"

"Wand," said Iolanthe as she gave hers a little twiddle between two fingers. "Dab on a little beeswax, give it a buff, then a drop or two of lemon oil, followed by another buff. Mr. Ollivander swears by it. He practically required me to take an oath that I'd be a faithful polisher before he'd let me go with my wand."

She touched the soft beeswax in the little jar with a fingertip and put little dabs of it up and down the wand. Then she took the little piece of cloth from the kit and distributed the wax evenly before buffing the wood.

"What spells are you looking up?" Iolanthe asked as she continued buffing.

"Variations of _reparo,_ " said Bridget. "I had no idea there were so many ways to fix things that were broken."

"Very handy," said Iolanthe. "Hardly a day goes by…"

She laughed at her own joke, Bridget joining in.

"Want some?" Iolanthe asked, holding up the little jar. "Before I put the cap back?"

Bridget took out her wand and Iolanthe tried to inspect it without being too obvious. It looked like a serviceable wand, overall. There were a couple of dings in the wood but those were almost inevitable. The wand looked a lot like Harry's and Iolanthe wondered if it was holly. She decided not to pry and ask about the core since many witches and wizards deflected such questions due to superstitious beliefs about nefarious countermeasures an enemy could use if they knew those details.

"Give it a quick wipe before putting the wax on," said Iolanthe, "Then just touch the wand with the fingertip with the wax on it."

Iolanthe took Bridget through the basic cleaning, waxing and oiling drill that Mr. Ollivander had shown to countless customers over the decades, including Iolanthe Astoria Potter.

"That's all there is to it," she said. "Now you're all set for when you find something to repair. How are your lessons? Everything going smoothly?"

"So far," Bridget said. She looked around the common room. "Cordelia knows a lot more than me. I've been told Miss Annabelle's is the best school for young witches. I suppose there must be schools like it in Ireland but I haven't heard of any, at least not in Cork."

Iolanthe thought about what Bridget had said. There was more meaning in her statement than the bare words revealed.

"Don't worry about what Miss Annabelle's teaches," she said, "What matters is what you learn in your lessons at Hogwarts. The sorting hat put you both here. It had its reasons. Apply yourself. Practice. If you get stumped, help is available. You are a Slytherin, Bridget. We do not fail, no matter how hard the task. Understand? You have the solution to every problem here, and here."

Iolanthe tapped her first two fingers over her heart, and against her temple. Then she put her supplies in the little canvas kit and went back to her room. She resolved again to keep an eye on Bridget. It wouldn't do to let her get discouraged because she hadn't been born with the advantages Cordelia had.

Hogwarts Blacks who would be attending Black Christmas were free to leave Hogwarts' grounds at the end of the final class of the day. Millicent Bulstrode once more took charge of getting the students safely away. Most were going home, and would proceed to Cornwall with their families on Saturday morning. The Potter-Black delegation, Iolanthe and James, Scorpius and Zelda and this year's addition of Moira Turley would go directly, as would Millicent. Ginny was also free for the weekend and would meet Millicent at the Black estate.

Iolanthe had been feeling a bit fraught about having Moira staying over Friday night. Daphne pulled her aside as soon as everyone arrived and confirmed her fears.

"Sweetheart, we don't have Lissette this year, so I have to ask you to be a good hostess and let Moira share the tower room," she said. "Can you do that?"

"I can," she said. "There wasn't a lot of enthusiasm in that, was there?"

"Oh, Iolanthe," said Daphne. It sounded like she snickered and sniffled at the same time. "You are so much like your late aunt. That sounded exactly like her. No, there wasn't a lot of enthusiasm but you are such a Potter down under that Slytherin coating, you are always ready to do your duty. That may be what this is. They seem to have each met their match."

"I know," said Iolanthe with a little added moan. "I felt it not long after we got back to Hogwarts. It's time I make peace with it. I'm going to try, Mother. Merlin forbid I ever do anything to make James unhappy."

"Let's hope you don't need that level of help," Daphne said. "You might not even have to talk, everyone usually goes right to sleep on Friday night. Can you take Moira in hand and show her your room?"

Iolanthe found Moira with James. Not seeing any need to dither, she walked up to them and got down to business.

"We need to get you settled, so grab whatever you've got and I'll show you where you'll be sleeping," said Iolanthe.

Moira had a small canvas bag with a drawstring closure. She picked it up by the cords and flipped it onto a shoulder.

"Lead on," Moira said.

Moira was just as taken with the tower room as Lissette had been. She looked around at the basic room features as Iolanthe pointed them out. Closet, dresser with its two drawers apiece, and the bath. Iolanthe called for Melon.

"What have you got to hang up and put away?" Iolanthe asked.

Moira pulled the mouth of the bag open and dumped its contents on one of the beds.

"Change of clothes, comb and brush and this dress," she said, picking up a tissue paper bundle. She held the dress up and shook it out. It was a full length red and green velvet number with a bit of poof to the skirt and a scoop neckline. There was a pair of red velvet slippers to go with the dress. Something Elizabethan lurked in the design.

"That is a gorgeous dress, Moira," said Iolanthe, the surprise evident in her voice. "What kind of Christmas parties do you have on St. Magnus? I have to go visit, I can see."

"They aren't as elaborate as this one," Moira said. "I probably wouldn't wear this on the island. I got it from Madame Malkin. Spent some of my fishing money."

Iolanthe prided herself on having a pretty good idea of what was going on at Hogwarts but Moira had pulled her coup off without a hint getting back to Iolanthe. She looked out into the hall then closed the door.

"Want to model?" Iolanthe asked, nodding at the bathroom. "I'd like to see it."

"Why not?" said Moira. She went in and was back minutes later. Moira stepped into her slippers.

"What do you think?" Moira asked. Someone knocked on the door as she spoke.

Iolanthe opened the door a crack and looked out. She motioned to Moira to step off to the side, then opened the door for Daphne and Tracey.

"Moira!" exclaimed Daphne as Tracey closed the door. "You've transformed. Tracey, as Merlin is my witness, the last time I saw Moira she was in a sweater she wears to go out on her boat and she had a knife this big hanging from her belt."

Daphne held up her hands, perhaps exaggerating just a little.

"Uh-huh," said Tracey. "She certainly looks the type. Madame Malkin, Moira?"

"Yes," Moira said, getting a little rosy-faced.

"Genius, look at those colors," Iolanthe said.

"And the slippers!" said Tracey. "Mine are so tame!"

Tracey was wearing emerald green silk pajamas and matching slides with open toes, accented by crimson nails upstairs and down.

"Yes, tame," Iolanthe affirmed.

"Well, Moira, you are absolutely gorgeous. Are you all settled in? Melon showed up and worked her magic? We'll sit down for dinner shortly, so why don't you two get into whatever you're going to wear this evening and do what you have to do before dinner and come on down?" Daphne asked. She and Tracey took one more look back at Moira and left.

"As of tonight, you're an established star. Go ahead and change, I'll wait," Iolanthe said.

Iolanthe wasn't the only young woman intent on finding some route to accommodation at the Black estate that evening. Moira had felt the same force pushing her away from Iolanthe that Iolanthe always from her side. She knew it was not based on anything she knew about Iolanthe, nor anything Iolanthe had done to her. She hadn't known Iolanthe long enough. It was just there from the first moment they laid eyes on one another, as if each had a magnet-like field intrinsic to themselves, and the wrong end always faced the other.

Moira was intuitive enough to grasp that as the outsider coming to an established relationship, she would have to find the way to make things work with Iolanthe if she were to end up with James. That was the bare minimum. Everything else could wait.

The Potters sat down to dinner at the great table in the Black estate dining room, joined by Draco and Scorpius Malfoy, Millicent Bulstrode and Ginny Weasley. Zelda and Ginny sat across from one another, the better to enjoy their quidditch-only conversation. Scorpius gave everyone an update on his current course of studies. Lucius Malfoy had handed Scorpius an old potion book written in Latin over the summer and asked if Scorpius' Latin was up to the task of translation. Scorpius spent several days with the text and his Latin-English dictionary before concluding the Latin was a translation from an even older magical text, which changed the direction of his research and eventually led to the ministry library and a bound manuscript in Old English that pre-dated the Conquest. Scorpius was still comparing texts with an idea to producing a modern English translation drawing on both sources. As to whether the resulting potions would be worth the trouble, Scorpius couldn't say.

Draco and Millicent declared that the project was some of the most significant magical scholarship produced all year. Daphne thought she heard Astoria in Scorpius' reporting. Zelda and Iolanthe knew Rose had made her peace with Scorpius' determination to become an academic. They had also heard her confess her suspicion that if anyone was going to make a living for the two of them it would have to be her. Zelda and Iolanthe exchanged looks, then quickly turned back to their conversational partners.

James kept an eye on Moira. She hadn't had long exposure to the circle around Harry, Daphne and Tracey and he didn't want to see signs she was getting too much, too soon. James knew the Potters were exotic. Moira hadn't said a great deal about James' surroundings after Samhain at Potter Manor, but he knew his family had to look very different from Moira's magical fishing family on St. Magnus.

Dessert was a great bowl of profiterole with a warm chocolate sauce. Everyone took some. Some took lots. It was good, and a source of warm, inner, Christmas-y feelings, all by itself.

Food and conversation could only push back against fatigue for so long and the student delegation began to flag. Iolanthe and Moira made their farewells and climbed the stairs to the tower room to get some sleep and be ready for a full Saturday. Moira had been listening carefully, besides carrying out surreptitious surveillance of Iolanthe throughout dinner, hoping to identify an opening where they could begin a civil conversation.

"Happy Birthday, Iolanthe," said Moira when they got to their room. "It was the first, wasn't it? James finally got around to telling me."

"Thank-you," said Iolanthe, "That is so James. Yes, December first."

"Needless to say I don't have a card or anything else. I'll try to make this the last one I miss," Moira said.

There was no additional conversation until Iolanthe climbed into her bed and flicked her wand at the last lamp.

" _Nox_ ," she said.

Moira decided then was as good a time to try as any. Putting it off wouldn't make it any easier.

"How are we going to do this?" Moira's voice sounded out of the dark.

Iolanthe looked over at her. The moonlight was just strong enough to outline Moira's face, framed in her head full of red waves.

"We treat each other with respect," Iolanthe said. "There is no requirement that says you have to like me, nor I you. To make James' life workable we swear off conflict, forever, if it comes to that. For James. If we must speak frankly we do it in private."

Moira lay in bed thinking.

"You and I don't have a lot in common," Moira observed, "But that's not it."

"Very observant," said Iolanthe. "It's something else."

Neither one said anything right away.

"I'm quite mad for the Potters, as a group," Moira offered. "I don't mind saying so, either. The energy you all generate is invigorating."

"And we both love James," Iolanthe continued, partly for Moira.

"James and I haven't gotten that far," Moira protested, her voice suddenly very low and husky.

"No matter," Iolanthe answered, "I said it so you don't have to. The two of you will get there if neither of you makes a complete mess of things. It's the logical end-state, and people can find each other at any age. Look at Rose and Scorpius. I think, objectively speaking, Moira, you and James appear to be a good fit. Similar outlooks, unafraid to speak your mind, orientation to practical things, neither of you is at all averse to hard work. You both look happy when the other is close by. That was plain last year. I want James to be happy. I will have a harmonious Potterdom. If I can't always control my feelings I can control my behavior."

Moira turned her head so she could look out at the moon. She lay there pondering the night sky the way she did on the boat when the weather was agreeable.

"Our mothers seem to get along," Moira finally said.

"They do," said Iolanthe. "Mother goes on about Agnes this, Agnes that."

"I'll do my best," Moira said.

"That will have to be good enough, for now," said Iolanthe, then, "G'night."

From the morning following their first overnight in the tower room at the Black estate Moira and Iolanthe worked to develop a non-hostile atmosphere around the two of them. Moira tried to find something nice to say to James about Iolanthe at least once a day. It could be fairly late before she found her nice news item, but she found one on most days.

Tracey and Daphne would be busy on Saturday with elves and checklists until the first guests were expected, usually between ten-thirty and eleven. Blacks would then arrive in a steady stream until the buffet commenced at one. Right after breakfast, Tracey held a little drill for greeters and pullers, i.e., the Hogwarts contingent, just so everyone knew how that worked. Free time was limited, but Iolanthe estimated they had around ninety minutes to do a truncated strolling of the closest lane to the house. Zelda elected to stay and work with Tracey so she would be there when Rose arrived. That left Scorpius, James and Moira to make up Iolanthe's patrol.

"I suggest this way, down to the T and back," said Iolanthe, "Everyone agree it is five before nine?"

"If you say it is five before nine," said Scorpius, "It's five before nine."

"Thirty minutes out, thirty minutes back and we're inside with thirty minutes to get ready to go to work for Tracey," Iolanthe said.

"Agreed," said James.

Moira fell in with Iolanthe on purpose, leaving James and Scorpius to walk and talk a few paces behind. Moira asked how Iolanthe liked working in the hospital ward and let her carry the conversation from that point forward.

Iolanthe called it perfectly and at ten-twenty she and Moira were descending the main stairs. Fleur and Bill had arrived and Fleur had taken up her now-traditional position at the front door prepared to meet and greet. Kendra saw Iolanthe coming down and strode to the stairs to sweep the birthday girl into a long embrace.

Iolanthe hugged back while Kendra ran through a synopsis of Iolanthe's life up to that point, starting from Daphne naming her Iolanthe Astoria at the fairies' prompting through her birth at Greengrass Manor, speaking parseltongue when she was only three days old, taming dragons, and now here she was, sixteen already! And a Slytherin! A sixteen-year-old Slytherin beauty! She showered blessings! She WAS a blessing!

"Thank-you, Grandmother, thank-you, thank-you," Iolanthe said, over and over as Kendra wished her Happy Birthday and Merry Christmas. Kendra moved on to Scorpius, their distinguished scholar who published his first book at fifteen and was already immersed in more research which he would have to sit down and tell Kendra all about.

"Thank-you, Grandmother Kendra, thank-you, thank-you…" Scorpius said as if quoting Iolanthe.

James took his turn next, listening to Kendra's recitation of his accomplishments and thanking her like the others.

Moira didn't get quite the level of froth the others did but neither did Kendra leave her out. Her hug wasn't as tight or as long but Kendra was obviously delighted to see her. Kendra stepped back and looked Moira up and down, rust-red hair to crimson velvet slippers.

"Working?" Kendra asked, meaning was Moira doing some regular rune-practice.

Moira reached into a side pocket in her skirt and pulled out a little drawstring bag.

"Wonderful," said Kendra, a simple statement of fact. "I'll need you a little later on. After everyone's been invited to get something to eat. I'll let you know."

Moira watched Iolanthe take a couple off Fleur's hands, arrange for an elf to handle their cloaks and lead them to where Harry and Daphne stood, an informal receiving line taking and dispensing compliments of the season. Moira took the next couple from Fleur, thought she recognized a bit of an accent and tried dropping an Old Norse seasonal greeting that still hung on in little pockets in the isles and was delighted when they made the appropriate response. This led to reciprocal social niceties ending only when she handed the couple off to Harry and Daphne.

The initial crush of arrivals passed and soon it was one o'clock and Tracey was ringing for attention. Harry made appropriate welcoming remarks, wished Iolanthe a happy sixteenth birthday, and asked her to open the festivities. Iolanthe thanked everyone for coming and for the many birthday blessings and declared the buffet to be open.

Kendra, sitting on a sofa next to Hermione, caught Moira's eye and motioned her over.

"Let's send a wizard for the food and we'll sit here so we're available," Kendra said. "Hermione and I can make sure you're properly introduced that way."

Kendra waved James over and asked him if he could pass by the buffet and bring them some nibbles.

Moira wasn't sure what Kendra meant but she thought if she were patient eventually she would find out. Hermione moved over so Moira could sit between them. Kendra had Melon put two little nesting tables near the sofa so the rune-witches would have someplace for their plates. Before long a Black cousin came over and knelt in front of Hermione.

"Lady Hermione," said the witch as she took Hermione's offered hand.

"Cassandra," said Hermione. "Merry Christmas, Sister! How are the children?"

Hermione held Cassandra's hand while the two went through short exchanges about children, an impending engagement, and a new position at work. Hermione squeezed Cassandra's shoulder with her free hand, letting her go so she could move over to Kendra.

"Cassandra, Merry Christmas!" Kendra said. "May I have the honor to introduce another rune-witch of our acquaintance? This is Moira Turley, a friend of my grandson, James. She's from the Isle of St. Magnus."

Cassandra looked at Moira, then took her hand and brought it to her lips.

"Miss Moira, blessings, so honored to meet you," said Cassandra, inclining her head. Kendra made just the slightest pantomime of a head pat and nodded at Moira.

"The honor is mine, Madame Cassandra," said Moira, improvising as she laid her hand on top of Cassandra's head. "Merry Christmas, and blessings throughout the year."

Kendra ended Cassandra's moment with a squeeze and a couple of pats to her shoulder. Cassandra rose and gave all three rune-witches little inclinations of her head and shoulders before rejoining the party.

Hermione was focused on Kendra, who gave her a little nod.

"That was perfect, Moira," said Hermione, her voice very low and meant just for Moira. "That will mean so much to Cassandra. She lost both of her parents, very close together a little over a year ago and is still mourning. A little bit of light dispels a great deal of darkness."

The ritual greetings continued until all of the rune-witches present had paid respects. Moira did not know any of them other than Hermione and Kendra but they all felt familiar to her, as if they'd shared a fleeting moment long before and were just getting re-acquainted.

Hermione took charge of Moira at some subtle signal from Kendra and steered her back to the scrum of guests.

"Mother Kendra may need to see some people alone, so we'll circulate," said Hermione. They took up a position near the tree and Hermione faced the crowd.

"Just stand here by me," Hermione said. "We'll be available if anyone wants to talk."

Two witches walked up and did want to talk. One leaned in and whispered in Hermione's ear. Hermione nodded.

"I'll just have a word with Kendra," Hermione said. "Would you stay here and chat these witches up? I predict they'll want to learn all about you."

Moira didn't have a response but she did as Hermione asked. The two witches actually giggled at Hermione's comment.

"You're from the Isle of St. Magnus?" one said.

"And you've come all this way for us!" said her companion. "I'd say that is a good sign."

"Oh, most certainly!" said the first witch. "Beautiful witch, beautiful dress. What a Christmas!"

Moira kept her attention on the two witches while trying to use her peripheral vision to monitor Hermione and Kendra. Kendra rose and went around a corner as Hermione rejoined the group.

"Thank-you, Moira," she said, "Be right back."

Moira watched as Hermione conducted the two witches around the corner in the same direction as Kendra.

"They need to chat. There's a little study they can use, right around the corner," said Hermione when she returned. "That's pretty much all the rune-witch business, unless something else comes up. Got any questions?"

"One or two," said Moira.

Hermione found that hilarious. When she recovered she suggested it was time for some punch, or tea, if Moira preferred.

"You have very advanced knowledge of runes," Hermione began. "When Kendra and I worked with you at your home we both saw the same things. You're skilled, true, but your interpretation is deep. Nuanced. Runes are like stone masonry, carpentry, jewelry-making, a craft. For every one hundred competent craftspeople there are two, or three, or five who are such masters their work goes beyond. They advance the craft. History records their careers as turning points in the evolution of the field. We think you have that kind of potential. You'll need to study, and listen, and perhaps learn from a mistake or two along the way."

"I think I get it," Moira said, putting on her patient face and holding Hermione's eyes. "You were checking me out. I wasn't informed before. Why?"

Moira waited as she had with James. A lot would depend on Hermione's response.

"Anyone can learn to cast runes, but there is an informal sisterhood, a kind of lodge, of rune-witches," Hermione began. "For hundreds of years the rune-witches have done it this way. The sisters look to Kendra, Mother Kendra, for counsel. She occupies a special place. She is more skilled than most, but that is only part of it. She has suffered the most grievous losses imaginable, yet she carries on, leading without shouting, giving us an example to follow, kind words for all. She does not curse fate, although if anyone were more justified…It's anticipated I will succeed her."

That was how Hermione described her place in the sisterhood.

"It's anticipated I will succeed her."

"We've been expecting you," she continued.

Moira stood there, waiting.

"The runes."

Hermione looked back at Moira's steady gaze. Moira had her explanation. The runes. That was the explanation, that and the history of the rune-witches doing it just that way for hundreds of years. Take it or leave it, Hermione seemed to be saying. The finality was terrifying.

"Now they will assume…" Moira began but couldn't find the words to finish.

"Well, you've just met a few," said Hermione. "You don't have any formal duties, although, Merlin knows, word does tend to get around. If a witch unexpectedly shows you some deference or seems more than ordinarily pleased to make your acquaintance, you could just assume she's a rune-witch and turn on the graciousness. We've established that you are a natural, haven't we? If she isn't a rune-witch, you've just been extra-nice to someone that day, and there is never anything wrong with that."

Moira was still staring straight into Hermione's eyes, trying to plumb the dimensions of the scenario she'd just outlined.

"I need to think about this," said Moira.

"Of course you do," said Hermione. "We estimate you have plenty of time."

"How?"

"The runes," said Hermione. "Although, as you probably know, the runes become a little fuzzy the closer the subject is to the caster."

"Can I decline?" asked Moira.

Hermione didn't answer immediately.

"It's a call to service," Hermione said. "Of course you can decline. We can't arrest you on charges of refusing. You don't get anything for it, so no one has a claim to your time or skills. Just meeting you meant something to the rune-witches this afternoon. My understanding is you provide another form of service, a kind of helping profession, could one say?"

Moira flinched.

"How?"

Hermione's face lit up in a huge grin.

"Oh, witches, Moira. They'll always surprise you," Hermione said. "Do you like helping? When people have something stuck inside and it won't come unstuck and you help them with it and they begin to feel better?"

"Who?"

"No one, I assure you," Hermione said. "Lots and lots of work over decades. Lady Kendra and countless cups of tea and casting, casting, casting. If I hadn't become fascinated with runes I wouldn't have any reason to have known her all these years. That in itself is many times sufficient recompense for anything that has or will be asked of me."

Moira felt a great gale blowing inside her head. Thoughts would not hold still. Ideas were in collision. Even the roar of the gale was there. Merlin's beard! What kind of witch was Hermione, anyway? Was there anything she didn't know? Any one of Moira's thoughts she hadn't managed to probe?

"It's all the runes," Hermione said, answering Moira's unvoiced question. "Runes and empathy. I was flawed, did anyone ever tell you that? No empathy when I was young. My parents are muggles, both dentists. Heavy on the science, so that's how I was formed, as a youngster. At eleven I got my letter and it was off to Hogwarts, where I alienated nearly everyone except Ron and Harry, who managed to just tolerate me as long as I went along with their insatiable adventuring, did their research and remembered the right spell at critical moments. Then the violent climax to it all, and the post-Voldemort world, and I wondered what was the point? Ron asked me to marry him and became an auror. I went into the Department of Mysteries and planned to guard my anonymity and pore over dusty tomes. At home, I picked up my runes. Kendra found me and we worked together a few times, and she knew. 'I've been expecting you,' she said."

"Empathy?" Moira asked. "Did that come from the runes?"

Hermione's face fell.

"Empathy can be learned," said Hermione. "Kendra taught me, or showed me by example. I'm told I have enough now to be considered human."

Kendra walked over and made them three.

"So, Moira, has Hermione got you thoroughly confused?" Kendra asked.

"It's a lot to take in," said Moira. "On the whole, she explained it very well. I'm not sure I can understand everything. That's not her fault, though."

"Don't worry about it for now," said Kendra. "It's Black Christmas! Wassail! Beautiful green and red dresses from Madame Malkin!"

Hermione's face lit up.

"We all need a party now and then," she said.

Turning to Moira, Kendra said, "What did I hear about Iolanthe loading up her schedule with healing? She isn't going to become one of those academic grinds, is she?"

"Those people are so tedious," said Hermione, relishing the irony.

"I don't know when I first heard," Moira said, "I suppose James knew early on."

"Oh-oh," said Hermione. "James will have to be spoken to, Gran."

"What?" said James who'd been close enough to hear the exchange.

"Iolanthe is working with Madame Pomfrey," said Kendra. "I hadn't heard. Perhaps you had and didn't think it a worthy news item."

James spotted Iolanthe across the room and motioned her over, sliding aside to give her space.

"Iolanthe, we've been here gossiping about your private business," James began, "And we wanted to know if we're going to have another healer in the family?"

"Gosh," said Iolanthe, "A witch wants to do a little career exploration and her life becomes an open book. That's totally unexpected."

"Well?" said James.

"It's my first term with Madame Pomfrey," said Iolanthe. "There is a long course of study. It really is too early to say, but I do like it so far."

Daphne arrived.

"What is this clump of witches doing here?" she wanted to know, adding, "And wizard."

Everyone looked at Iolanthe. 'Up to you,' they all seemed to be saying.

"I added a class, Mother," said Iolanthe. "First Term Healing Practical, just a few periods a week. Cleaning up the bodily fluids and drawing lines on parchments for Matron's case notes. You know the drill."

"I do, so very well," said Daphne. "But why didn't you send me an owl? Does Harry know?"

"It was something I did just to get familiar, on a trial basis," Iolanthe said. "I asked Madame Pomfrey to keep it to herself. She knows, Auntie Millicent and Professor McGonagall."

"And we let the cat out of the bag," said Kendra.

"That's alright," Iolanthe said, "I was looking for an opportunity to take Mother aside and tell her."

Daphne took Iolanthe's arm and turned her away from the group. Kendra smiled at her circle. Daphne got Iolanthe around the corner.

"I won't put you on the spot in front of everyone, but what do you think so far?" asked Daphne.

"I think I was born to do it," said Iolanthe.

Daphne's eyes welled up.

"Oh, Iolanthe," was a far as she got.

"But it's still early on," cautioned Iolanthe.

"I know, I know," said Daphne, then, "Believe me I KNOW! But you have the soul of a scientist, and a healer. At least I have always felt it. All of that observation of nature and ferocious compassion inside you."

"That isn't exactly scientific," said Iolanthe.

"No, dear, that's the magic," said Daphne. "I guess we're going to have to build in some consultation time on a regular basis."

"That would be wonderful, Mother," Iolanthe said. "You owe Madame Pomfrey a visit, I'm told. How about some wassail?"

"Join me in a toast?" asked Daphne.

"Of course," said Iolanthe. "To Hippocrates?"

"Mm-hmm," Daphne said, "Among others."

With just a few exceptions the Black Hogwarts delegation was scheduled to return via the Three Broomsticks starting at four in the afternoon. Millicent Bulstrode would again take the roll and get the group organized for the walk from Hogsmeade to the castle. Iolanthe found Moira sometime after three and informed her it was time to collect their fellows and take leave.

Moira didn't know what Iolanthe meant but she went along to assist in the collection. She later said taking their leave was one of the most fun and interesting things she did over her two days in Cornwall. Harry and Daphne led Millicent and the Hogwarts Blacks from room to room, greeting the portraits of long-dead distinguished Blacks, toasting the Black family and wishing everyone Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Some of the portraits were surprisingly well-informed, asking about parents, classes, and family news. Newcomers, including Moira, were introduced to the portraits and welcomed to the ever-expanding great circle of Blacks.

The travelers went by floo to the Three Broomsticks and Millicent tried again to treat them to drinks. As she had done before, Madame Rosmerta pre-empted Millicent and refused to take her money, thanking the Blacks for the show of appreciation signified by their use of her pub as their meeting place.

There wasn't any snow on the ground, even though it was December, so the trek to the castle under the lightshow in the sky did not have the otherworldly quality a white blanket conferred. Even so, the Milky Way displayed itself and its wonders, the gaudiness and implacability equally insistent on claiming their share of the Blacks' attention.

Moira and James found themselves paired up for the walk back, although neither was aware there was any implicit design at work. The Blacks' feet trod frozen grass on the edges of the track, setting up a crunch-crunch-crunch of polyrhythmic cadence beneath the hushed conversations of walking partners.

James had taken Moira's little sea bag and was carrying it on his left shoulder. Moira enjoyed walking next to James. She decided it was time to let him know that. Her left hand found his right in the darkness and held on. She noticed his callouses right away. Something about them shot from her hand and up her arm to connect with a place deep inside and Moira felt heat radiating out, displacing the December cold.

Iolanthe and Scorpius were walking behind James and Moira and Iolanthe noticed the joined hands. Iolanthe looked over at Scorpius.

"Cute," she seemed to indicate. Scorpius needed a distraction before laughter spoiled James and Moira's moment.

"Look at Polaris," he said, "Like you could reach out and touch it."


	57. Chapter 57

Wheels Within Wheels

Iolanthe

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Several Ways Forward

When Harry pitched the first Black Christmas to Daphne and Tracey no one had the slightest idea he was initiating an official start for the mid-winter holiday season for Blacks far and wide. The sequence now began with Black Christmas/Iolanthe's Birthday on or about the first of December, followed by the winter solstice, Christmas, Boxing Day, New Year's Eve and New Year's Day. Some years included a wedding on a holiday or one of the Eves. Only dawn of January 2 brought respite and the opportunity to get back to work or business.

Hogwarts Blacks returned from Black Christmas with two weeks of lessons ahead of them followed by term break. They might have been expected to become fractious had not Iolanthe kept her mind on her studies, which forced Rose to do the same for fear Iolanthe would get ahead of her, in turn keeping Scorpius from getting distracted, and so on.

Moira watched Iolanthe closely. From the moment of their talk on the evening of her first night at the Black estate, on through the Black Christmas party and the return to Hogwarts, Moira observed Iolanthe and took note. She watched how Iolanthe approached people and how she carried herself in company. She paid attention to Iolanthe's two closest associates, Rose and Scorpius, listening to their voices when they addressed Iolanthe.

Moira's exchanges with Iolanthe followed their established pattern.

"Iolanthe," Moira would say, adding a very slight bob of the head.

"Moira," Iolanthe would return.

Moira's birthday was in February. Iolanthe gave her a card. It was a very high-end card, from Seamus and Dean's stationery department. Moira appreciated Iolanthe's taste, and the succinct message she wrote on the inside flap.

"Moira," it said, "Best wishes and sincere hopes for many more. Iolanthe"

If Iolanthe showed up while James and Moira were in conversation, Moira broke off the talk and said to James, "James, look, it's Iolanthe!"

Then she would add something like, "Hullo! What's going on?"

James would get a huge smile, often giving his sister a quick hug in greeting. The first few times Iolanthe got a sort of bemused, quizzical expression on her face, but she quickly began following Moira's lead and focused on James. As long as each of them kept James in mind their truce held.

Moira hadn't yet become familiar with the rune-witches' internal communications but the rune group at Hogwarts had clearly heard of her job interview at Black Christmas. Older students began coming by when Zelda and Moira were at their usual places in the library.

The witches were unfailingly polite, always nodding and whispering, "Zelda," before touching Moira lightly on the shoulder, sometimes with a gentle squeeze to accompany, "Moira." For her part, Moira disciplined herself to take care of her other subjects before getting out her runestones. She found that if she started to cast, she'd be immersed in runes to the exclusion of everything else. She had to get better with runes, Zelda didn't, so she wouldn't be doing Zelda much good, either.

The end of the academic year is in sight after the mid-winter break. Everyone had such interesting things to work on the spring term seemed to race by. Iolanthe adjusted her schedule to accommodate more healing. Her time in the ward became a highlight of her day almost as pleasant as study time with Rose. Before long it was April, then May, and students started making plans to leave for the summer.

"It's going to be…," James started at dinner one evening, only to become stuck for a conclusion.

"Wish I had a greenhouse," said Moira.

"Really, why?" asked James.

"Maybe you'd come and see me," Moira said.

James picked up a piece of fried cod in his fingers.

"You don't need a greenhouse," James replied, "I'll come and see you. If I'm welcome. And Mum and Dad say it's okay."

He popped the fish in his mouth.

"Hmm…," said Moira.

Hugo and Iolanthe still got up and headed straight for the quidditch pitch for a little stretching and sweating before breakfast. Iolanthe liked running and pushups best. Hugo preferred running windsprints to going around and around. He had progressed through a series of forms with Ron and Harry and had developed his own regime of punching, kicking and blocking moves focused on improving his right-left balance and speed. Hugo would have been a formidable opponent for anyone in a hand-to-hand match as he neared the end of his third year.

"You've got this down," Iolanthe said one morning as they walked back to the castle for breakfast.

"Thanks," said Hugo. "The physical part was never a worry."

"What are the magical requirements?" Iolanthe asked.

"Lots of charms, believe it or not," said Hugo. "Charms have all kinds of useful applications for aurors. I bet our fathers could make our lives either miserable or much more convenient and livable if pressed."

"That's a universal, though, isn't it?" Iolanthe asked. "Wizards won't do anything that might spoil their children. It's important we learn for ourselves. What else?"

"Dueling, as you might expect," Hugo went on. "Transfiguration. Not a requirement but it gets a candidate additional points. Comes in very handy in undercover work. No one worries about that plant stand in the corner. Defense is most important. Outstanding on NEWTs is expected, perfect is preferred. Dad says he'd have never gotten past the exam in normal times."

"But he wasn't living in normal times, so that doesn't apply," said Iolanthe. She still dabbed sweat from her face as they walked up the hill. "Your father is fearless. That has to count for something. Loyal, too. I bet he is the best investigator the Wizengamot ever had. If someone had something to hide they wouldn't want Ron Weasley looking into it."

"Well, thank-you, can I pass that along?" asked Hugo.

"That was kind of just for you," said Iolanthe. "How are the marks, for your studies, I mean?"

"Adequate," answered Hugo. "Hester Carrow gave me some tips on charms that really helped."

"Are you sure she gave you real tips?" asked Iolanthe. "In Ravenclaw?"

Hugo laughed.

"Come on," he said, "You don't subscribe to those old canards about Ravenclaw sabotage, do you? Competition, sure, bragging rights. That's just the Ravenclaw idea of fun. But we want the house cup as badly as Slytherin does, and that requires cooperation."

"I thought it was something like that," said Iolanthe. "The other was just making conversation. What do you know about Hester?"

"Not a lot," Hugo admitted. "She lives with her mother. She has an aunt, her mum's twin. That's about it."

"Here we are," Hugo said as they reached the landing where Hugo would go up and Iolanthe down. "See you tomorrow."

"'Bye, Hugo," said Iolanthe.

Harry, Daphne and Tracey had spent Christmas and New Year's at Potter manor, hosting the children and drop-bys from well-wishers of all descriptions. Fabio and Kendra planned their mid-winter specifically to maximize time with the grandchildren. Kendra organized a mass trek to Davis Manor by Harry, Daphne, Draco, Tracey, Iolanthe, James, Evans, Davis, Scorpius and Zelda. The occasion was considered significant enough that Tracey brought along her favorite magical photographer to document their visit.

Madame Davis delighted in all of her great-grandchildrens' reports and the antics of Evans and Davis who went where they would, opening cabinets, picking up bric-a-brac and indulging in all manner of age-appropriate entertainment. She followed Hogwarts quidditch and wanted to know the latest on Scorpius' potion book project.

"I got through school with no knowledge of Old English," she observed. "With good marks, too. How did I miss its very existence?"

"Don't know, Great-grandmother," said Scorpius. "It's been there all along."

No one thought Scorpius' subtle display of cheek any funnier than Madame. She tipped her head back laughing, even banged the tip of her cane once or twice. Mrs. Davis followed nearly all of the conversations without assistance. Everyone agreed afterwards that she was as sharp as ever, or close. Iolanthe sent a card from one of her better stationery sets to thank Madame Davis for receiving them. She cornered James at breakfast and got a signature. Even the twins were given crayons and directed to scribble something.

Daphne owled Iolanthe regularly through the spring term. She left the twins with Harry and Tracey three different times to take the floo to Hogwarts for consultations with Madame Pomfrey. Her old mentor appreciated the attention but she understood Daphne really wanted to consult with her daughter. Iolanthe was still happy to be working in the hospital ward. By dropping one course she had doubled the time available to work, with no diminution of enthusiasm. Iolanthe still wouldn't say she was committing to a career as a healer. That wouldn't really become an issue until the end of sixth year, so she didn't feel a need to get ahead of herself.

After the winter break Harry, Daphne and Tracey left the country houses to the elves and moved to #12 Grimmauld Place. Harry liked the way London looked in winter and it was convenient to work for both Daphne and Tracey. Daphne's Wednesday afternoon at-homes were as popular as ever and Harry enjoyed waiting for Kreacher to greet visitors at the door after which Harry would conduct them down the hall to Daphne's study.

"Look who's here!" he'd say after knocking and getting Daphne's "Come in!"

In the months since he'd been damaged Harry had grown a love of theater, especially Shakespeare. He'd always felt a kinship with Shakespeare's characters. So many of them spoke of things he felt and could not articulate. The Bard put his characters onstage to give voice to Harry Potter's internal conflicts, tragic inheritance, frustration with Tomorrow, creeping in its petty pace to the last syllable of recorded time. Julius Caesar spoke directly to Harry Potter when he observed the fault is not in the stars but in ourselves.

Harry went to the theater at least weekly all through the final months of that winter. He took Daphne when she'd go with him. If not he'd impose on Tracey. If neither were available he'd sit and pout. Daphne assured him she wouldn't mind if he asked Ginny. They were all adults, after all. Harry declined, with thanks. He wasn't afraid of Daphne, or Ginny, for that matter. He did have a healthy respect for Millicent Bulstrode's strength, magical power and dueling skill. Even if both lived he didn't think either of them would want to pay for the damages.

Harry did mount something of a coup the last weekend in April, when Millicent and Ginny were both at #12, inviting the two of them to a performance of The Merchant of Venice. Harry sat on the aisle, next to Millicent, with Ginny on Millicent's right in the third seat. Millicent was familiar with the play although Harry hadn't known it when he asked the ladies out. She had always felt a resonance with Shylock's speeches.

Tears began to run down her cheeks early on, when Shylock said to Antonio, "You that did void your rheum upon my beard…" Knowing the play, Millicent had come prepared with multiple handkerchiefs and deployed them until the final curtain.

Magic and theater are closely related. London's faithful, and knowledgeable, magical theater supporters went regularly. If a London witch or wizard knew which theaters to attend, they could step through a curtained portal directly to a very discreet apparation point, thus saving the bother of enchanting muggles to get a cab after the theater got out. Harry, Millicent and Ginny went straight from 'House Lights' to the front steps of #12, arriving just as Kreacher was opening the door.

"Lord Harry, Madam Millicent and Madam Ginny, how was the play?" Kreacher asked, bowing them in.

"Wonderful, Kreacher, thank-you for asking," said Millicent, still dabbing at her eyes.

Kreacher was taking their coats as Daphne stepped out of her study.

"What's wrong?" Daphne asked when she saw Millicent was in distress.

"Nothing, I always do this," Millicent said.

"How about some tea, Kreacher?" asked Harry as he began to shepherd the witches. "We'll be in the second drawing room."

"It's kind of silly," Millicent said when everyone had settled down with a cup of tea. "I wasn't understood or respected by the Bulstrodes. Or liked, to be truthful. Some things were said and done to me when I was younger. No one asked if I wanted to be different. I didn't choose to be, but I knew what I liked by the time I started Hogwarts. I knew what I didn't like, too. No offense, Harry."

"None taken," Harry assured her.

"I see now the whole lot were incapable of accepting what they couldn't understand. Mother tried but the best she could be was neutral, and that really was no help at all. I found my own way, eventually, but there were some very lonely years in there."

Tracey had come back while the party was at the theater and had joined them for tea.

"Millicent," she said, a little weepy, "If I ever did anything to you, even inadvertently, I apologize and ask, no, I beg your forgiveness."

"Me too, Millicent," said Daphne. "I've felt some of that."

She looked down at her lap.

"That thing there was said to be frozen shut. I'm told there was a message in a boys'…"

All five of them started to laugh, loudly, because the carved message about Daphne's frozen thing was a Hogwarts legend, an enchanted phantom inscription on a bathroom partition that only appeared for a hopeful suitor who had been sent packing by the Arctic Queen. Harry had heard the tale, but never saw any such carving, nor had anyone else, as far as he knew. He suspected the Ravenclaws had invented the whole story as an elaborate hoax to get the other houses running around looking for it.

"Millicent, I'm not making light of your experience," Daphne said.

"I know," Millicent said. "That had to hurt terribly. I knew I should say something supportive at the time but I was obsessed with my own situation. I actually feel much better now that we've all had a good laugh. What fools these mortals be, and so on. Anyway, ever since the very first time I saw Merchant of Venice I've felt such a kinship with Shylock. I cry every time I go now. We're all humans, dammit, before anything else."

"Hear, hear," said Harry.

"Oh, Millicent, you're such a jewel," said Ginny. Her eyes looked like they were getting a bit sparkly. Millicent looked back, basking in such sweet words from the love of her life.

Harry thought it might be time for him to check on the twins.

"I'll go see the lads," he said. "Doubt if I'll be down again, so good-night. See everyone at breakfast."

Daphne wasn't far behind and Harry was still reading when she slid into bed beside him.

"I didn't realize it was so hard for Millicent at school," Harry said. "She wasn't in that many of my classes, certainly wasn't in my social group, such as it was. Merlin, that kind of stuff breaks my heart. Anyone hurting young people like that really gets me furious. I suppose you hear about it all the time, in your job."

"Not as much as people think," Daphne said. "There is a lot of childhood and young adult trauma, for sure, but people cope. Forgiving our tormentors is very important. That's how we move on from our pain and start taking charge of our own lives. Sometimes it can take some time to get to that point, but once the subject can do it the weight lifts and they feel good, just like that. My patients are about half post-injury, some from emotional damage but more from curses, hexes, and so on, and the other half are magicals who have done something terrible in their minds and can't live with themselves. They convince themselves they're bad beyond redemption and quite literally drive themselves crazy."

"And on that note…" Harry said, then, "Nox."

Harry tugged on Daphne's arm and she rolled toward him. He found her right hand and rubbed his thumb on her Black signet.

"Something?" she asked.

"Oh, just wondering what life would be like now if…"

"If, what?" Daphne asked. "We can't foresee the future and we can't rewrite what is done. My job, if you really want to know, consists largely of helping susceptible people grasp that truth."

"So, if not for you, I'd be dead," Harry said.

"Not necessarily," Daphne said, and a bit firmly, too, Harry thought. "You might be Head Auror, and lonely. Or in a mismatched relationship. Or single and accepting of it. Or disappointed with magic and spending your time at your precious Chelsea matches."

"Blue is the color…," Harry sang.

"There's a friendly coming up in New York, against Cosmos. We could meet up with Uncle Larry someplace," he babbled to increasing spousal annoyance.

"We were talking about something I thought was semi-serious," Daphne noted.

"I know, sorry," Harry said. "It was a weak attempt to get my mind off our conversation downstairs. When I meet another Cinderella there's always some resonance."

"Do you think of yourself as Cinderella? I'd have thought Hamlet, you prince. Conflicted over a familial obligation you neither wanted nor were equipped to accomplish, but you stayed with it and found a way."

The streetlamp from across the street made a deep shadow over Daphne's pillow so she was only a silhouette to Harry.

"That would make you Ophelia?" he asked, worried.

"Ha!" said Daphne. "Fat chance. The truth is I've migrated over time. I was Juliet, when I was around her age, but Romeo refused to appear beneath my balcony, the stuck-up little…Then I might have become Lady MacBeth for a time. Looking back, I can see myself ready for a calculated, mercenary match, strictly business, as long as he and I both understood that was what it was. No bower for him, of course."

"Of course," said Harry. "Perfectly understandable. Tough luck, MacBeth. No bower for you."

"Then I caught up to Julius and bewitched him in my bower and for years I was Calpurnia, fearing the worst every time he went out the door, that he wouldn't be coming back. Calpurnia's husband was good at war and politics and he was lucky. Some people can't tolerate that combination."

"Daphne, you're serious," Harry said as he pulled her close. The humor was gone from his tone. She meant it. He had done that to her. "Oh, it's all my fault. I should have learned magical tailoring or something. What can I do…"

Daphne sprang onto her knees and grabbed the tee shirt Harry was wearing on top. She pulled the fabric into two bunches in her doubled fists, the shirt tight across his back, her amber eyes burning into his green ones as she looked down at him.

"Potter," she said, her voice a forceful whisper with too much feline hiss for Harry's comfort. "I am Caesar's wife, not some tailor's dummy. Don't you ever think you have to commiserate with me. If I fear the time may come…well, how many times does your average rustic witch get to lay down with the emperor? A night with you is sufficient to balance a lifetime of silly girlish worries."

Harry completely lost the thread in his wife's reasoning. He sensed Lady Potter-Black was sick and tired of verbal communication and was signaling him to switch. He grabbed her wrists and pushed them back toward her. She didn't let go, putting a huge rip in his shirt. He freed her hands, threw the blankets back and rolled over so he could get to his knees and pull the shredded thing over his head, but it wasn't him who finished ripping, pulled the rag free and threw it to the far corner of the room. Harry and Daphne were now kneeling in the center of their bed, breathing slow, deep, controlled breaths, staring into one another's eyes.

"Is that thing still frozen?" Harry asked.

"If it is, Your Imperial Majesty will just have to thaw it out," Daphne said, her nostrils flaring with each breath. "You know how that's done. Get to work. You can take as long as you need. I'm in no hurry."

The physical part left them panting and when Harry opened some distance between them, the sheen on their skin was suddenly cool. Harry pulled the sheet up against the chill and they enjoyed a long cooling-down with hugs and little kisses and thumbs gently stroking cheeks and foreheads just touching.

"Beowulf," Harry said, barely more than whispering. "The plays talk to all of us but I didn't think I was a character from Shakespeare. I had to do my time as Cinderella, sure, but in time I started to identify with Beowulf. Even before we went questing and I caught up with him that last time. What year do we read Beowulf-third? That's when I got Beowulf in my head and he's never left. I had come to rid a country of a monster. That's what I did. Although, I didn't have to fight his mother, so it's not a perfect match."

"Merlin, Harry, just the image of you in your chain mail and gauntlets…" Daphne whispered right next to his ear, her free leg trying to stretch over him one more time.

"Stop, we'll never get to sleep," Harry said, keeping the laughter under control so he didn't wake the twins.

The Hogwarts Express brought the students back from Scotland on the afternoon of the next day, the last Friday in May. Harry and Tracey had meet and greet duties, Daphne was tied up at St. Mungo's and Fabio and Kendra came to London to stay at #12 Grimmauld Place with the twins. Some aurors were assigned to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters for the arrival so Harry got to shake hands with some former colleagues and catch up on births, deaths, retirements and a little light office gossip.

"Homesick?" Tracey asked when the aurors left and they waited for the train to arrive.

"Mixed feelings," Harry said. "I miss that part. The camaraderie. The shared purpose. Taking risks and responsibility for each other. I miss being their voice at Kingsley's conference table. All the rest of it, good riddance. I don't get anywhere near that level of frustration from you and the children."

"That's really sweet, Harry," Tracey said. "You've never said that before. It makes me happy to hear you say that."

"Well, it's true," said Harry. "I had no idea we would end up with this tribe or that it would be this much fun. We've even got the shared purpose of raising the children. If this isn't a conventional family in all ways, well, whose is? They get raised by people who love them and would sacrifice anything for them. There's nothing I could do with my life that's more important."

The steam whistle sounded and the excitement level on the platform approached the unbearable. Tracey slid her hand under Harry's arm and linked up. Zelda was the first to arrive, sprinting across the platform. She successfully avoided collisions with several parties before leaping into Tracey's arms.

"Oh, Zelda," said Tracey, "I won't be able to stand up to that much longer. You've grown some more! We'll have to go shopping."

"Oh, darn," laughed Zelda.

"I know," Tracey said, "Running around with my beautiful athlete daughter, shopping, eating lunch, seeing and being seen…"

"Dad?" said Zelda. She must have thought she was leaving Harry out because she immediately backtracked, saying, "Hi, Harry! Nice to see you!"

"Nice to see you, Zelda," Harry's said. "Ready for summer?"

"Yep," Zelda said, then turned her attention back to Tracey.

"Dad?" she repeated.

"Dinner tonight at Morgan's okay with you? He's doing something with your grandmother right now," answered Tracey.

Zelda made a face. Madame Zabini did not like the story of Blaise' Tobago liaison with Tracey. She never warmed to Tracey, nor had she melted the slightest when Zelda was born and charmed everyone else she met, even some of the Davis's. Very little had changed in the interim, and Zelda felt no affection for the woman who appeared to have willed herself to feel none for her.

"Her loss, remember?" Tracey asked.

"Of course, the old…," Zelda began.

"The wonderful old witch," Tracey advised. "Eccentric. Not everyone's cup of tea."

"Live, and let live," Zelda sighed, agreeing at last.

Iolanthe walked up, Rose, Scorpius, Hugo and James in her wake. Draco arrived to retrieve Scorpius, greeted everyone and departed.

"Made it!" exclaimed Ron Weasley as he semi-trotted up to the group.

"Could you cut it a little finer, next time?" asked Rose as she threw her arms around her father.

"I can work on it, sure," said Ron. "Welcome back. Welcome back, Hugo. How was spring term?"

Multiple voices started describing spring term as the group turned for the apparation point.

Later in the evening, luggage and laundry managed, stories told and stomachs filled, Iolanthe sat in the little townhouse garden with Harry and Daphne. Evans and Davis chased one another around and around with a quartet of toy dragons, attacking and counter-attacking. James had excused himself to write a first-person narrative of the Hogwarts Express' journey from Hogsmeade to London.

"Summer plans?" Daphne asked Iolanthe.

"I was going to ask you," said Iolanthe. "I'd like to work, at least a little. One would think just being in the right environment would guarantee learning something."

"That's very true," Daphne said. "Excellent observation. Did you want me to put out the word?"

"Could you?" asked Iolanthe. "If there is something worthwhile?"

"Always something worthwhile, if we look," Daphne said. "Would you consider the ministry? Magical health department? You might push parchment but healers have to know their regulations and standard procedures."

"Can't hurt to ask," Harry said. "That's how we find out. I heard."

"Yes," said Iolanthe. "I think I'd take anything in a related field."

"We'll do it, then," said Harry. "So you're sticking with healing."

"I believe so," Iolanthe said.

"You'll be a wonderful healer," Daphne said.

"Thanks, Mother," said Iolanthe.

Moira and Daphne had kept up a regular correspondence since the previous August and Daphne's visit to the Isle of St. Magnus. Every month or six weeks Moira would send a short note, generally bread and butter but leavened with the occasional hard news item. Daphne saved them all in a little chest with a closure that became virtually un-openable when she cast a simple charm. Her favorites had a sentence or two about knitting.

Daphne looked for an opportunity to send James to accompany Fabio on a buying trip to St. Magnus. That way he would get a chance to see Moira, she would get a chance to see him, and Moira could open the subject of sweaters. Daphne had no doubt Moira would have James' sweater complete by late summer, according to their deal from one year before. She had been thinking about how to keep herself informed about James' attitude toward Moira's plans and the symbolism of her offering without becoming a nosey mother getting overly involved in her child's private affairs.

Daphne had been going around and around since her talk with Moira, never getting anywhere. She hit upon the solution shortly after everyone returned from Hogwarts. They were sitting on the floor of the salon with Evans and Davis when Daphne threw it all in Harry's lap.

"If I ask you something, can you keep it to yourself?" Daphne said.

Harry couldn't see them, but he heard numerous man-traps in the question. He proceeded, but with caution.

"Of course," he said, putting on his most confident smile.

"Your son, James Greengrass, has a friend," Daphne began. "A special friend. A girl."

"Moira," Harry affirmed.

"Very impressive," Daphne nodded. "In Moira's part of the world, the Isles, there is a custom. A young woman will knit a sweater, the kind they wear to go out to fish. Each family has a pattern. If a young woman's sweetheart accepts a sweater in her family's pattern, he is acknowledging he is her intended. With me so far?"

"The young woman proposes and the sweater is the engagement ring?" Harry asked, quite certain he had some crucial detail wrong.

"Exactly!" Daphne said. "So astute. Moira has been knitting. A sweater. For James."

Harry thought that over.

"They're a little young," he said.

"They are," Daphne agreed. "On the other hand, I learned a lot from my visit to St. Magnus last summer. Moira goes fishing with her father and uncles. Has been for a year or two. She's not a day tripper. She does the work right alongside. She has her own boat, although I think it is more for her to take out and fish or sail for pleasure. You know she's a rune-witch, don't you?"

"I knew she did runes. I saw her with Hermione and Kendra at Christmas," Harry said.

"Mother and Hermione have no doubt Moira is Hermione's successor," said Daphne. "She'll need to study and learn with them for a few years, but the runes say she is the one. Apparently she did very well when they were receiving the Black rune-witches."

"So she's capable of knowing her own mind, you're saying," Harry observed. "What about James?"

"James and Teddy could displace Father's domestic suppliers right now," Daphne said. "The quality and quantity of their herbs is sufficient. Father has been encouraging more diversification to keep the market in balance. That Potter vault you had cleaned out for James is receiving regular deposits. Of course, he doesn't have any expenses, thanks to his father, but he could probably live independently if he needed to."

"Where do I come in?" Harry asked.

"Could you just see, without being too obvious, if you could find out how James feels about Moira knitting him a sweater?" Daphne asked. "Not just the sweater, but the commitment? What it means? They're effectively engaged if he takes it. She'll be heartbroken if he refuses."

"Oh, take him to lunch, then," Harry declared. "Sure. To get what you want to know I'll have to refer to the essential information you just gave me. Is that okay?"

Harry and James agreed on a day to go to lunch and Harry made sure they had a table with a good view reserved at Morgan le Fay's. Madame Ba greeted them at her station near the fireplace.

"Mr. Potter and Mr. Potter!" she gushed. "What a day we're having. Your table is all ready. All of the lunch specials are superb today, but I would rate the grilled salmon just a half step above the others. The salad is graced with a warm goat cheese that is otherworldly, the red meat is a beef kabob on a bed of perfect brown rice, and the fowl is a cold pheasant plate with tomato, lettuce and cold sliced beets on the side. Go ahead and make it a sandwich with the little loaf of house-made bread if you wish, everyone else is."

Madame Ba pulled out James' chair and wished them _bon appetit_.

Harry looked around and noticed that Madame Ba had left a buffer of one empty table on three sides, the fourth being their window on London. He wondered if it was an accident. He decided to get to the crucial matters as soon as the waiter took their orders and left.

"What do you hear from St. Magnus?" Harry asked. James smiled.

"Everything's going well," he said. "Weather favorable so they're out fishing a lot. When they're not out they can tend to things ashore, maintenance and so on. Mum says Grandfather is willing to take me on his next trip. She and Mrs. Turley seem to get on well."

"I think they do," Harry said. He had ordered the salad with goat cheese. When it arrived he picked up the cruet of olive oil and applied a generous dose.

"Moira, it seems, has been knitting," Harry said as he broke off the end of a baguette. "Not socks. A sweater."

"Okay," said James, pushing the chunks of beef from the skewer onto the brown rice. "She likes to work."

Harry didn't detect any sign that James was aware of additional data embedded in the news a young woman from the Isles was spending her time knitting.

"She's knitting a sweater she'd like to give you, if you're willing to accept it," Harry said. "I don't know if you knew that?"

"Whoa!" said James. He sat, looking across at Harry.

"Is that true?" he asked. "How did you find out? If it's okay for me to ask."

"Witches, James," Harry said, adding a little shrug and a small smile of his own. "Don't try to figure them out. Appreciate them for everything they do and are, but…"

"She can knit me a sweater?" James asked. "I had no idea. I knew she could knit, just not something that advanced. How about that?"

"The thing is, James, there's something you need to know," Harry went on. "There is a tradition in the Isles, at least in Moira's part, that families follow distinct patterns in their sweater-knitting. Moira is knitting you a sweater for a Turley of St. Magnus. She plans to give it to you, and if you accept it, you will be saying you are her intended. It's a step along the way to engagement and marriage. If you refuse, of course, you reject the young woman's offer, and the two of you…"

"Pffft…" said James, his face suddenly blank.

"Yes, pffft…" said Harry. "At least that is how I understand it. Your mother and I are of one mind on something. We don't want to see anyone hurt. At the same time, we don't want you to think that we are pushing you one way or the other. You have to know your own mind, whichever path you choose. If you don't feel ready to accept Moira's sweater, and all that goes with it, your mother believes she can ask Moira to wait a little longer, and Moira will have to decide, ahh, whether…"

"Whether that means 'Pffft…'" said James, summing up.

James took a bite of rice with a little chunk of beef kabob and sat looking out at London, chewing slowly.

"I learned your business has gotten a little bigger than I knew," said Harry. "You and Teddy are doing well by Fabio, I've heard."

"Um-hmm," said James. "He's doing well by us. We're very fortunate. He has been taking everything we can grow. He's got us looking into some of the more difficult magical plants, which have higher profit margins, of course.

"Okay," James said, getting back to the subject of sweaters, "If Moira wants to give me a Turley sweater, I'll take it. We've had an agreement to focus on studies and not get all gushy and stupid-acting like some of the others, but I think I can wear a sweater safely. We'll talk. It will work."

"James, this has gone better than I thought possible," Harry said. "How's the kabob?"

"Everything's great," James said. "What do you think of Moira, now that you've seen her a few times?"

"She seems a good fit," Harry said. "This is kind of an eclectic group."

"Merlin, I guess so," James said. "We don't have a fisherman yet."

"At least our lives aren't boring," said Harry. "I've never understood how anyone can live like that. Then, rather than doing something, they complain about it."

"Me neither," said James. Both of them shrugged.

Moira wasn't available for Black Picnic as she had gone fishing with her father again. James would have liked to see her, but he knew how independent she was and how she liked having her share of the money when her father sold the catch. His main worry was that she'd be hurt, or worse, by something unpredictable when the boat was underway, but he had no idea what that might be. She was a witch out fishing with wizards. She didn't even need a broom to fly, should it come to that.

Fabio did make a trip to St. Magnus in mid-July. When the time came he took not only James but Daphne, Harry and Kendra as well. Agnes Turley imposed on her husband to delay going out to fish so that he could be around to meet James and family.

Mr. Turley had a first name, but he didn't like it. When Agnes introduced him to the Potters and Greengrass's she called him 'Mr. Turley.'

Mr. Turley offered his hand with, "Turley. Very pleased to meet everyone. Welcome to St. Magnus."

"Just Turley, then?" asked Harry.

"If you don't mind, Mr. Potter," said Turley.

"Harry," said Harry. "Everyone else does. Very glad to meet you, Turley."

Agnes had lunch ready so the families sat down outside under a great sailcloth awning and shared platters of fish, fried, steamed and grilled. The Turleys were keenly interested in Daphne's specialty, assuring her St. Magnus could keep her busy if she wanted to move.

Post-lunch entertainment was a walking tour of the Turley's end of St. Magnus. Fabio broke away with Kendra for a visit to an apothecary that was a good customer. Moira waited until Turley released her, but it sounded like the Turley family had worked out a visit for James to Moira's boat, just as she'd shown Daphne. The Potters and Turleys took their time getting back up the hill to the Turley home. Agnes went inside and shortly they were back to the shady spot under the awning, looking out at the sunny slope, breathing sea air and putting away strong coffee.

"This is perfect, Turley," said Harry. "Of course, it is July."

"True, Harry," Turley said. "Agnes and I have started talking about a winter break. St. Magnus in winter requires real commitment."

James and Moira came uphill and rejoined the party. It wasn't long and Moira motioned to the door with her eyes and got up. Agnes followed.

"We talked," Moira said when they'd gotten away from the others. "He understands. Can I check the size? I've never been able to see where I'm at."

Agnes considered her fourteen year-old fishing, banshee daughter for a long time. When she did break it off Agnes opened her arms and hugged Moira to her, rocking left and right a few times.

"Of course, let me get him," she said. "Spare your father seeing it? He'd certainly break down."

Moira went for the bag that held her yarn, needles and the nearly-finished sweater and Agnes opened the door and motioned for James to come in. Moira and Agnes positioned James and held the sweater up against his shoulder blades, then to his chest, talking all the while as if he weren't even there. After a very few minutes they'd laid out the path to finishing the sweater and James was dismissed. He went back outside and sat down. Turley looked him over, a half-smile showing.

"And you're building a business, we hear?" said Turley.

"Yes, sir," said James. "We're growers. Fruit and veg for ourselves and herbs for market. Grandfather has picky customers. We wouldn't have gotten the quality up so soon without his help. Teddy has been working with him for years, then he brought me in."

"Teddy?" Turley asked.

"My, uh, god-brother, if there is such a thing," James said as he glanced at Harry. "I've never actually known what we'd be called."

"Don't look at me," Harry said. "I don't know either."

"Teddy is my god-son," Harry explained. "He was orphaned as a baby and his widowed grandmother raised him for the most part, but we saw each other nearly every week, until he went to Hogwarts. Just another facet of the Potters."

Agnes had joined them while Harry was talking.

"Such a wonderful family," she said. "We want to meet you all, don't we, Turley?"

"What? Oh, yes!" Turley said, making a graceful recovery. "Heard so much about everyone, ever since, Moira and James…"

He broke off, deciding it might be better to do a clumsy edit than bring up the earlier misadventure.

Fabio and Kendra returned and it was time for the delegation to go. Turley stuck his right hand out to James and rested his left on James' shoulder. He didn't crush James' hand, but he did give the shoulder a good squeeze. He looked James in the eye.

"Very glad to meet you, James," he said. "We'll see you again, and soon, I hope."

"Glad to meet you, sir," said James. "I'd like that very much."

Iolanthe wasted no time cornering Daphne upon the return of the delegation from the trip to St. Magnus. She started with a frank confession that she knew something was up and would not be able to rest until she knew what it was.

"Mother," she began, "I can't accept that the Potters were overcome by a sudden interest in the magical commodities trade, Grandfather notwithstanding."

"Iolanthe," Daphne answered, "You have known your entire life that I traveled with Father on business, throughout my school years. Why, the only thing that could have kept me from apprenticing with him so I could take over when the time came was healing. You know how compelling healing becomes, I believe? Even today I think fondly of our trips to Torshavn and Montreal and I sometimes think a career change might be invigorating."

"Perhaps you could volunteer for a follow-up visit to St. Magnus, and I could be your apprentice," Iolanthe said. "You know, just keep your hand in, so your information is current."

"And you could enlist your grandfather as your co-conspirator!" exclaimed Daphne.

"Win-win-win, all around," Iolanthe said, confirming, she hoped, her victory over the forces of excessive propriety.

"No," said Daphne. "Talk to James. It is his place to release or withhold information on his private life."

"Mother, he's fourteen," Iolanthe replied, "I'm still practically changing his nappies."

"You did a fine job as his surrogate mother, Iolanthe," Daphne began. "Considering you're only twenty-one months apart that is quite an accomplishment. You're the best big sister in this family since me, which is high praise."

"The highest," agreed Iolanthe, nodding encouragement. The conversation was headed in the right direction, and Iolanthe was intent on keeping it so.

"But, no," Daphne concluded. "James. He's your man."

"Your record is unblemished so far, Mother," said Iolanthe. "May it stay so, with Merlin's help."

Daphne smiled and returned to reading an interesting journal article on sleeplessness in adolescent witches.

Iolanthe knew James would be at Potter Manor, probably in his exquisite conservatory or in the beds nearby, so she took the floo to the Manor and went in search of her brother. He had information that Iolanthe needed and to which she was entitled.

"James Greengrass Potter!" she shouted as she crossed the patio.

James was outside with some outdoor elves, turning over soil in a bed they'd just relieved of a nice crop of beets. He'd seen Iolanthe at the door to the patio and didn't see any reason to exert himself answering her. It did appear she was on her way to him.

"James," she said as she walked up.

"Iolanthe," James returned in greeting.

"Will you tell me voluntarily what happened on St. Magnus or shall I begin to wheedle?" she asked.

"The most entertaining way would be for me to keep my mouth shut and enjoy your performance," James said. "I'm sure it would be a classic."

Iolanthe stood still, face neutral, staring into James' eyes.

"But, since you gave me the courtesy of a choice," James went on, "That should be rewarded."

James called for a break and asked one of the elves to bring water for everyone, then led the way to a bench that sat in some shade near the greenhouse.

"Moira and I like each other," James began. "I told her, and she told me. We agreed we would not get all sugary and put on a show like some of our schoolmates. Not my style, nor hers, really. I also submitted, and she agreed, we have to finish our educations before we can start thinking about…"

James stopped talking and looked down toward the Dart. Iolanthe waited, forcing herself to be patient.

"Before we can start thinking about a life together," James went on. "Moira started knitting a sweater for me, last year. Mrs. Turley informed Mum that she was using the pattern of the Turleys of St. Magnus. When a young woman from the Isles gives her male friend a sweater with her family's pattern, she's kind of, you could say, proposing. If he takes the sweater, he accepts. Agnes – that's Mrs. Turley – explained it all to Mum, who talked to Moira last year and asked her to wait. She waited. Moira told me all about it while we were there. I told her to finish the sweater."

Iolanthe looked at her little brother. She had a hard time taking in what she'd just been told. After all, she was still practically changing the little fella, figuratively speaking. And that Moira! Flying into Potter Manor, IN DEVON, FROM SCOTLAND, turning James' head so she could hijack him just when he was really becoming interesting!

Iolanthe sighed.

"I was afraid it was something like that," she said. "I so hoped I could delay your domestication for a few more years."

"That's nice," James said, "But why? This is what I like to spend my time doing. Teddy and I have a great opportunity, growing for Grandfather. We're going ahead with our co-op. Moira has her own money from fishing. I don't know if she wants to keep doing it much longer or if she'd rather do this or something completely different. It doesn't matter, because we can work it out. We've shown we won't starve."

Iolanthe sat back. James' last comment hit home. He was right. They wouldn't starve. At the age of fourteen, both James and Moira had not only done very well in their magical academic careers, they'd found vocations they could pursue for decades.

"James," Iolanthe began, then stopped.

"James," she said, trying again, "That is just the most remarkable…"

"And you and Moira…"

"Talked it over," said James. "She's very practical. Works for me."

Iolanthe put her arms around James' neck and hugged.

"Of all things," said Iolanthe, "I never…"

"I know," James said, "It wasn't anything either one of us set out to do. We just found each other."

"At least it sounds like the Potters will eat well," Iolanthe concluded.

"Food will be available at the best possible rate, consistent with the market," said James.


	58. Chapter 58

Wheels Within Wheels

Iolanthe

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Lord Harry's Decision

Iolanthe stood next to Harry and Daphne as the usual delegation formed up to board the Hogwarts Express. She was eager to get her sixth year underway. Iolanthe landed in a summer position in the Department of Magical Health at the ministry and collated statistics on magical maladies all summer. When people asked her what she had been doing with her summer she always began, "Well, it sounds boring, but…"

Then she proceeded to tell them exactly how it was not boring at all as long as you approached it the right way.

As would be expected, the ministry had some very advanced magical collation and analysis tools to deploy to make sense of the raw data. Iolanthe was eager to get started applying her new skills to coursework at Hogwarts. Learning how to handle statistical analyses of magical maladies gave Iolanthe insight into how to use probability as an aid in diagnosis. She wondered if the traditionalist Madame Pomfrey ever used those techniques.

In one of their many consultations over the summer, Daphne had cautioned Iolanthe to speak little and listen much in her interactions with Madame Pomfrey.

"Many of us want to deploy every bit of new knowledge we acquire right away," Daphne said. "We want the approval of our mentors. I know I did. It's good to remember to temper our eagerness with respect for their positions, knowledge and experience."

"Mother, surely I haven't…" Iolanthe began. "Although I see what you mean."

She didn't see, not right away. Iolanthe took Daphne's cautionary words to heart, though, resolving to keep her peace until she was certain she could make a contribution beyond sharing an interesting idea.

The journey to Hogwarts was routine for Iolanthe, after six years, going and coming, ten legs down altogether, and four to go. Over the summer Iolanthe had again raised the idea of walking back to Devon in the spring. Daphne had again deflected, asking if they couldn't discuss the plan when it was a little closer to the projected time for Iolanthe's great ramble. She hadn't alluded to her age, but Iolanthe would turn seventeen in December, so in theory, she could make her own decision. She might just do her research over the school term and have a route set to go by the end of May. Iolanthe wasn't sure but she thought she might be able to put together a route that would let her walk only on the country lanes, keeping out of muggle towns and cities, and spending the night in magic-friendly inns and guest-houses.

Iolanthe wasn't in a hurry to board the train, so she stood with Harry and Daphne near the end of a car. The steps up were close so she could wait until the final whistle if the conversation stayed interesting. Rose had released Ron to go back to whatever the rest of his day held, so she waited with Iolanthe and the Potters. This inevitably drew Hogwarts Blacks, rune-witches and both Gryffindors and Slytherins for handshakes, embraces and kisses to cheeks.

Iolanthe looked down the platform and saw two witches walking together, dressed alike, leading a younger witch who was pulling her luggage trolley.

"That Ravenclaw," Iolanthe said to Rose.

"Carrow," said Rose.

"Hester," Iolanthe added, then, "Hester Carrow. Look at her trunk. Should we give her a hand?"

"You never know," said Rose. "We can offer."

The two walked over and met Hester, letting the Carrow twins pass.

"That's a lot of trunk," said Iolanthe. "Got anyone to take an end?"

"Oh," Hester said, glancing at the twins. One shook her head and walked on, not saying a word, down the line of cars.

"Guess we'll put it on down there," Hester said, "But thanks anyway."

She got the trolley back up to speed and fell in line. Rose and Iolanthe were walking back toward Daphne and Harry when Hester turned her head and scanned each member of their group. Daphne looked back, and some reflex sent her hand under Harry's upper arm. She took hold and held on. Harry looked her way.

"Anything?" he asked.

"Later," Daphne said.

The engineer blew the whistle and Iolanthe pulled Harry close and kissed him on the cheek, then a kiss on the cheek for Daphne, followed with a kiss to the back of Daphne's right hand.

"Mother," was all she said.

"Have a great year, darling," said Daphne, before she was given a farewell kiss from Rose.

"Thanks for keeping me company," Rose said as Iolanthe took her wrist and moved toward the steps.

Harry and Daphne stayed until the train pulled out. They looked around the platform for left behind objects, out of long habit, then headed to the apparation point whence they'd return to Potter Manor.

"We're home," Daphne called as they materialized on the green. Kendra and Periwinkle were supervising some Evans and Davis free play on the patio. Kendra showed the twins who'd just come home and they sprinted across the green shouting 'Mum-Mum-Mum!'

"How was it?" asked Kendra.

"I thought it would get easier," Daphne said. She looked at Harry.

"I can barely look when the train starts to move," Harry said. "By the time these guys are eleven someone will have to sedate me."

On the train, the journey proceeded according to time-honored tradition. First years tended to precipitate out and clump in cabins, excited to be going, but already missing home and family, a little wary of the challenges to come. The end car was overwhelmingly Slytherin. Iolanthe and Zelda stopped in, Zelda joining the quidditch team to catch up on summer news, Iolanthe taking her time working the center aisle.

"Cordelia," said Iolanthe when she spotted the Slytherin second year. "Have you seen Bridget?"

"I believe she'll go directly, with her Gran," Cordelia reported, fluty tones deployed. "How was your summer, Iolanthe?"

"Very interesting, I found some work in magical malady statistics," Iolanthe said. "I couldn't call myself an expert, yet, but I can see it's a powerful tool for healers. What did you do?"

"Mother and Father took me to the Riviera, to a little magical country that isn't even on the map," she said. "It's very quaint."

"Sounds like it," said Iolanthe. "It wasn't _l'Anse des Sorciers_ , by any chance?"

Cordelia's face fell just a little before she smiled.

"Have you been?" she asked.

"Just twice, less than a day altogether," said Iolanthe. "I'm dying to go back and stay. So glad you got to go. I want to hear all about your trip, as soon as we get time."

Cordelia got a huge smile on her face at that.

"Of course!" she said.

Iolanthe turned and headed toward the door, picking up Zelda on the way. Once again the Slytherin quidditch team had to get a round of handshakes before Zelda was released.

"Go, Zelda, GO!" accompanied more than one farewell.

Rose started with her official duties by taking the new prefects on a tour of the train. They looked into compartments, asking if everything was going well, if there were any reported cases of motion sickness, or other signs of stress. She didn't expect to find any. Two passengers looked very young. Rose asked about their birthdays, and both had just turned eleven before the cutoff. She made a mental note to watch what the sorting hat did with them so she could exercise some discreet oversight. She might, in consultation with Iolanthe, have to volunteer some responsible person in their eventual house to watch out for adjustment difficulties.

Rose found Zelda and Iolanthe and the three went looking for a cabin with room for them. Rose and Iolanthe had come prepared with an excellent cold lunch to share, so all they really needed was an opening. They were confident in their ability to negotiate the rest.

An owl arrived that evening at Potter Manor, confirming everyone arrived safely. Both Hufflepuff and Slytherin were pleased with the sorting hat. Madame Pomfrey was thrilled Iolanthe was back for more healing practical and her tutorials. James reported Moira looked healthy and fit as ever, and sent her regards and those of her family to the Potters.

"Well," said Harry when they'd both read the short letter, "Another year under way."

"I want them back," Daphne said.

"Two weeks from today there will be a quidditch match," Harry told her. "How about taking Evans and Davis, we watch the quidditch, then, depending on how soon it finishes, we sign everyone out for a visit to Hogsmeade? In accordance with school policy, of course."

"That's a great idea, Harry, I think we should do that," Daphne said. "That isn't my problem, though. I miss them when they aren't here. Seeing them every day is fun. They're all so busy doing interesting things. There's just a gap when they aren't here. Right, boys?"

Evans and Davis hadn't been following the conversation as such, but Mum's tone definitely signaled she would like them to be in agreement, so they gave a hearty, "YAY."

"Ready for baths?" Harry asked, getting up. After a pro forma denial, it turned out the twins really were ready for baths, story time, and tucking-in.

The next two weeks passed quickly due to the demands of work and family life. Even though Harry no longer had a job, if you meant employment, he had estates to watch, interests and investments, and was a member of the Wizengamot. Then there were Evans and Davis.

James' birthday arrived. The evening before, Moira waited until the Hufflepuff common room was nearly empty before quietly advising James to, "Wait here."

She went to her trunk and returned with a rectangular box tied with black and gold ribbon. She handed it to James.

"Happy Birthday," she said.

James smiled, a huge, involuntary, uncontrollable smile.

"It's perfect," James said, taking a sweater out of the box.

"James," Moira said in her practical-sounding voice, "You have to try it on before you say that."

"Oh," James said.

He oriented the sweater and slipped it over his head.

"It's perfect," he repeated. "Am I allowed to repay you, somehow?"

"Perhaps, if you behave, and we are someplace with a bit less company," Moira said. "Merlin willing it will be sometime soon."

"I like it," James said. "How does it look?"

"Like I thought it would," said Moira, "Most handsome."

"It feels really good," James said. "It fits, I mean."

There wasn't a lot more to say, so Moira went back to her homework and contented herself with sneaking a satisfied glance at James from time to time.

Harry and Daphne's Quidditch Saturday field trip came around to general satisfaction. Ron and Hermione came, as did Tracey, even though the match was between Slytherin and Ravenclaw, meaning Zelda wouldn't be playing.

Relays of owls were kept flying the week before the match as students and parents tried to manage seating arrangements. Harry and Ron had played quidditch for Gryffindor, so green robes on brooms evoked a visceral reaction they would never overcome. The Slytherin alumnae, minus Tracey, wanted to sit with their section, and Iolanthe. Harry acceded to Daphne, resolved to mind his manners, and went with the Slytherins. The Gryffindor section had plenty of available seats, since Gryffindor was idle, so Ron and Hermione sat with Tracey, Rose and Zelda. Hugo, James and Moira sat with Ravenclaw.

The game wasn't particularly close as Slytherin jumped out to an early lead. They were able to stay a minimum of forty points ahead, sometimes adding twenty or thirty before Ravenclaw narrowed the lead, but neither side could mount a sustained scoring drive and control the game. If the Blues didn't have the players necessary to be competitive strictly on scoring, they stayed close enough to keep their seeker, and the snitch, critical to the outcome.

Harry was almost ready to suggest that Evans and Davis seemed to have had enough quidditch for one day. The game had just gone past two hours and the twins were showing signs of serious restlessness. The seekers were circling well above the pitch, staying out of the way of the beaters and chasers, methodically quartering their fields of vision, searching for the flash of gold that would set off the chase for the snitch.

"Who's that Ravenclaw seeker?" Harry asked Iolanthe.

"Hester Carrow," said Iolanthe. Daphne sat up a bit straighter.

"She can fly," said Harry. "Whoa! There they go!"

Both seekers dived as they saw the flash far below. Hester had the advantage temporarily, until the scrum moved, freeing the Slytherin seeker and blocking her. She flew through the crowd but had to slow down. When the seekers got down and matched the snitch's altitude the snitch took off, straight up. The seekers had to fly through traffic again, this time ascending, trying to maximize their speed while avoiding collisions with beaters, chasers, bludgers and the quaffle.

Hester was not attuned to holding her speed down in a slalom. She broke off her pursuit and flew out of the crowd, turning her back on the action and the snitch. Once free she raised the nose and climbed to where she judged the snitch ought to be. When she closed on the snitch it dove again, down and to her left. It appeared the snitch judged it could avoid capture by putting the crowd of chasers and beaters between itself and the pursuing seekers.

Hester showed her contrarian streak a second time, flying away from the snitch while the Slytherin seeker tried working his way through the play.

"What's she doing? What's she doing?" the Ravenclaws were asking until Hester's instinct proved perfect when the snitch flew out of the pack at high speed, right into her cupped hands. Hester clutched the snitch in one hand, rolled into a looping turn to clear the area and looked around for the referee. She flew a corkscrew descent, ending with a hard-braking stop and presentation of the snitch in front of Madame Hooch.

"Wow," said Harry as he began to clap. Across the pitch, Ron was staring, slack-jawed. The Slytherins around Harry had been anticipating a win but were experiencing the instant decompression inherent when defeat is snatched from victory.

Harry the Gryffindor interloper was all alone in his expression of appreciation for Hester Carrow's play, so he quickly settled back into his neutral observer mode. No one wanted to sit around in the Slytherin section rehashing the victory that almost was. Harry stood, offering a pickup to Evans and Davis, but they rejected his gallantry. Harry suspected they sensed restoration of their liberty as soon as the group was out of the stands. The Potters made their way out to a spot just off the route back to the castle. The adults formed up and took a head count, waiting for their scattered members to coalesce.

Daphne and Tracey stood together with Zelda and Iolanthe, waving now and then when a Slytherin old boy or girl passed and gave a greeting. Harry watched, generally without comment. He still worked on expunging some residual feelings between himself and a few of the people passing by, although he was pleased he'd gotten the number as low as he had.

"I'll let you handle this," Harry said to Tracey and Daphne, keeping his voice down.

"Millicent!" Tracey said. "And Flora and Hestia!"

"Hullo, all," said Daphne. Harry thought her voice sounded a bit strained.

"All," said one of the twins. The other remained silent.

"Harry," Flora said, nodding.

"Flora," said Harry. "Hestia. Tough loss."

"Not really," said Flora. "We came to see Hester play. It was a good game for her."

"Congratulations, then," said Tracey.

"Congratulations," Harry added.

Millicent gave everyone a smile and strolled on toward the castle with the Carrow twins. Tracey and Daphne shared a look, just momentarily, but Harry caught it. Ron was saying something to Hermione as they arrived with Hugo.

"Everyone who needs it has permission for a visit to the Three Broomsticks," Daphne said. "Takers?"

A round of 'Sure' and 'Of course!' followed, so the group walked on, this time with some purpose to their stride. There was no expectation they'd get a seat in the Three Broomsticks right away following quidditch on a beautiful September afternoon, but some patrons made room for Daphne and Iolanthe, who sat down with one twin each, and a little patience paid off with everyone finding accommodation a short while later. The Slytherins weren't really in the mood to replay the game, so talk turned to generic matters.

Tracey was drawn to James' new sweater. After a tease about how warm the day was and how he must be suffocating, she turned to Moira.

"Is there a model with no sleeves?" she asked.

"It would be easy enough," Moira said. "Just don't knit sleeves and finish the arm holes same as the one for the head."

"You know," Tracey went on, "I think we could sell those, if the price were right."

"Really?" Moira asked. "That's an idea for winter. The weather can be hard on the fishing. Magic helps but there can be weeks when the boats can't go out."

"Do you have your things here at school?" Tracey asked. "Don't neglect the books but you must have some free time."

"I've got a little yarn," said Moira. "If I run out, Mum can owl me some more."

"Great!" said Tracey. "If you could do one sleeveless and one with sleeves, as samples, I'll show them to some people and we'll see if we can generate a little interest."

Harry sat there taking it all in, not at all sure he understood what he'd just witnessed. It appeared two members of his immediate family, or close to it, had just formed a business partnership while he pondered his butterbeer. He reflected, not for the first time, on how inexplicably lucky he had been to inherit a financial cushion because he lacked an instinct for seeing a commercial opportunity, even if it were directly in front of him.

The post-quidditch crowd slowly left the Three Broomsticks. The Potters took responsibility for the students in the group, freeing Ron and Hermione to head back to London. Harry, Daphne and Tracey walked everyone back to the gates and saw them safely onto the castle grounds.

"'Bye, all," they called, waving through the gates. "See you soon."

Later that evening, Harry was in his study at Potter Manor, trying to get interested in rereading Beowulf, when Daphne peeked through his just-opened door.

"May we?" she asked.

"Of course," Harry said, closing his book and swinging his legs off the sofa.

"Maybe…," Daphne suggested, motioning Harry toward the center, after which Daphne and Tracey sat down on either side.

"Harry, we haven't spoken frankly about a few things, but we can't avoid it any longer," Daphne said.

"Um…" Harry said, striving mightily for complete neutrality.

"There isn't a delicate way to put it, Harry, so I'll get straight to the point," Tracey began. "Remember I love you, and Daphne, and I respect you both more than any two people on Earth. However, I was indiscreet about something, a long time ago, and I need to tell you about it.

"Years and years ago, when you weren't part of our lives, I was having drinks at the Leaky Cauldron, with Flora and Hestia, and they had had a few more than they'd ought to have…"

"Oh," interrupted Harry, "I think I know where this is going. But go ahead."

"They talked about your weekend…" said Tracey.

"Sure," said Harry. "Sometime after Hogwarts, while things were still getting back to normal, I had a room upstairs at the Leaky Cauldron. Grimmauld Place wasn't appealing and I hadn't rented the flat. I was eighteen, Ron and Hermione were occupying their time constructively so I was at loose ends.

"I saw the twins downstairs, in the pub, and we nodded, then we started talking. 'Who have you seen, how is this person, that person, blah-blah.' We ate something for dinner, then we put a few firewhiskeys on top of that, and we all went upstairs to get out of the noise. A couple of days later we woke up and did our morning things and it seemed we were all a little embarrassed and after breakfast they left and we never got together again. I don't think I've seen them up close between then and today at Hogwarts. So that's the story. I'm not proud of it. Everyone was still getting over the insanity. If I was wrong, I apologize to both of you."

"That's not entirely all, Harry," Tracey said. "I have something to confess…Hestia told me about it, like I said, and you and Ginny were still off and on and it hardly seemed at the time like it would ever matter and I told Daphne. I had no idea…Oh, Daphne didn't like it at all."

Harry looked at Daphne, who looked ready to cry.

"Okay, we don't need to hear it all," Harry said. "It's not carrying tales, it's a matter of historical fact, I admit to it. The Carrows weren't to blame. I didn't have to take them upstairs. As far as I know they're decent people. At least I never had to arrest them when I was an auror."

Something about Harry having to arrest the Carrows, in light of their now-revealed shared history changed the mood completely, in a positive way.

"Daphne got over it, as near as I can tell," Harry said. He reached between them and took her hand. With his other he pointed at the big leather-covered ottoman as he said, "Accio!" The ottoman slid over and Harry leaned back, putting his feet up. Daphne thought he looked very comfortable and added her feet.

"It's fine, Harry, those were crazy days," Daphne said, leaning back. "The three of you had a little adventure. Count it as experience."

"Umm…" Harry agreed. "Lessons learned. I am sorry for any hurt I caused you. Same for you, Tracey. Don't feel bad about the bit of gossip. If anyone needs to feel shame it is me. Understand?"

"There's one more thing," Daphne said. Harry picked out the serious note in her voice.

"Ah," Harry said. He waited.

"It appears that Hester, the Ravenclaw seeker, is your daughter."

"WHAT?" Harry nearly screamed. "That would be impossible. She's in James' year. No. Can't be."

"Twins," said Daphne, flicking her eyes up at the ceiling.

"Who made up the room after?" Tracey asked.

"Housekeeping, I suppose," Harry said. "Really, like I said, everyone kind of backed away from the obvious impossibility of it all. I left the room first, if I remember. That must have passed for discretion in my young mind. The room had been cleaned when I came back in the evening."

Tracey and Daphne shared a look.

"Well, there's something you need to know, Harry," Daphne said. "There's an old, old practice that witches pass along, mother to daughter. It's not well-known outside of the female lines of the old magical families, but there are some interesting things witches can do with the linens after they've taken a lover. The old tales said it required a virgin on her wedding night, sometimes it required the groom to be a virgin, too. A lot of that is embellishment.

"What is true is the witch can do a little spellwork at the time. The bedding has a few interesting magical properties and if the witch has the right skills she can use those sheets for lots of things in the future. A potion to give an aging husband some help, if you know what I mean. Get herself pregnant. Years later. The old purebloods sometimes married young witches off to truly awful old wizards. For business. To seal an alliance. For the good of the family. Sold outright for gold, in some cases. The witches would be under a lot of pressure, to produce an heir, perhaps, or other services. Like I said, it was mother to daughter transmission in most cases. They didn't teach it in school. It was a survival skill. Literally."

Harry watched as Daphne and Tracey made faces indicating a fairly high level of disgust at the thought.

"Oh," Harry said. "Ohhh…How did I live this long and not know about this?"

Tracey turned toward Harry.

"Harry!" she said. "Keep it in perspective. You didn't know, that's all. The Carrows were up for a little fun, obviously, just like you were. We were all seventeen, maybe eighteen? If Hestia and Flora nicked a sheet and did this years later, it was completely outside of your control."

"Exactly," said Daphne.

"What are the legalities?" Harry asked. "What is my moral obligation? If this is old time magical family witchcraft, you'll have to enlighten me. I haven't had your advantages. Merlin! There is no way I'll ever catch up, is there?"

Tracey and Daphne commenced making soothing comments for their grandee.

"Not your fault."

"Nobody's fault."

"You had no idea at the time."

"Nothing you could do about it."

Harry held up his hand.

"I'll have to do right by the young lady," Harry said. "Whose is she, anyway?"

"Hestia," Tracey said. "We haven't had any contact in years but I do recall seeing her once in Diagon Alley and we were both pregnant. Zelda and Hester are both fourth-years."

"So," Harry said. "Where do we go from here?"

"That kind of depends on Hestia," Daphne said. "She might not want anything at all to do with any of us. We wouldn't have known if Hester didn't bear such a resemblance to James."

"Without the distinct James manliness," Tracey nearly whispered.

"I think Moira got there before you, Tracey," noted Daphne.

"Plus Hester flies just like Harry," Tracey concluded

Harry stared at the wall opposite the sofa.

"Anyone want a fire? Some tea?" Harry asked.

A few minutes later the three of them were leaning against the back of the sofa, holding teacups, feet up, staring into the fire.

"Whatever is best for Hester," Harry said. "I should sit down with Hestia. With you, too, Daphne. Sort it out. If you two could see it, though, everyone else will be, soon, won't they? Why would Hestia keep something like that secret?"

"There are probably an infinite number of reasons we could speculate about that," Daphne said.

"Fear of Harry Potter," said Tracey.

"Tabloid reporters," added Daphne.

"Snide remarks from old Slytherins," Tracey continued.

"Maybe they were afraid of repercussions from inside the family," Daphne said. "They're Carrows, after all."

Harry and Tracey both gave involuntary shudders at her comment.

The contemplative mood descended again.

It was Harry who broke the silence.

"Tabloids," he said.

Harry got up and went to his desk. He looked around, found what he was looking for, and brought a folded sheet of parchment to the sofa, where he handed it to Daphne.

"I think it's time," he said.

Daphne unfolded the page and scanned it. Her eyes got big. Daphne looked at Harry and nodded, then handed the page back.

"Go ahead," she said.

"Tracey, Daphne and I love you, I don't mind admitting it in front of her," Harry began. "You're part of our home and family, and we both know how lucky we have been to have your help with the houses and the children. You'll have to pardon our presumption, but we wanted to make some provision for you if something happened to us. We put a little money in an investment account in your name awhile back, and let the goblins manage it. This is the latest statement. I think it's time we step back and let you handle it from here."

Harry handed the parchment over to Tracey, who sat on the sofa, staring.

"Harry," she said, her voice a whisper. "You don't…Everything you've done for us…Zelda…"

Tracey stopped talking and threw her arms around Daphne.

"You're a true friend, Tracey," Daphne said as she held Tracey in a long embrace. "We can't leave you vulnerable."

Tracey got control of herself and returned to her end of the sofa, so Harry sat down between them once again.

"Tabloids," he said. "Until we discuss it together, we don't say anything about this. If it comes out, all of that grandee stuff that Lafleur's allies planted is going to be pulled out and dusted off.

"How is the house hunting?" Harry went on. "You might not want to be living under our roof, Tracey. It could be better if you were seen as independent."

"HARRY!" Tracey said. "I am loyal to you until death! I'd feel like a deserter, to you and Daphne both."

"Merlin, until death?" said Harry. "It's not going to come to that. It could become embarrassing, though. You have a business, and Zelda."

"Oh, that's not an issue," Tracey laughed. "Being part of all this is excellent for business. There is no way to top belonging to the grandee and planning his Samhain ball. No magical event planner in Europe but me can bring that kind of atmosphere to the party."

Harry looked at Daphne.

"It's true, Harry," Daphne said. "Don't doubt Tracey's word on parties. She is the foremost authority."

"Fine," Harry said. "I guess we wait and keep our eyes and ears open. Hestia is certainly aware of us, and where we can be found. If she reaches out, we meet her halfway, go slow, no casting aspersions. We assume Hester is Hestia's daughter, but that hasn't been confirmed. We also assume she is mine, due to my naivete at the time of my youthful indiscretion, but we can't know that for sure at the moment. Merlin.

"I predict the time will come when Hestia and I will have to talk, but I don't want to be pushing it. No ruining that young witch's life, agreed? They have to approach us. Otherwise we chance making a complete, public, ugly mess. So it may be a little unconventional. We handle magic. How unconventional is that?"

"Very," said Tracey as she stood up from the sofa. "May I?"

"Feel free," Daphne said.

Tracey bent forward and put her arm around Harry's neck, pulling him toward her and planting a kiss firmly on his lips.

"'Night," she said, crossing to the door. "Thank-you for everything. I'll check the lads."

When the latch clicked Harry pointed his wand at the door and cast _muffliato_.

"What was that?" he asked.

"Normal affection for the man who has been there for her and her child for years and years, put a roof over their heads, promoted and cultivated her professional career…"

"We'll both be hexed, won't we?" Harry asked.

"Oh, Harry," Daphne said. "I reversed those years ago. I'm mad for both of you. What if Nature had her way with you one day? I couldn't risk my lord and my best friend getting a little excited and triggering the retribution of the fourteen-year-old witch I used to be, could I?"

Harry sat there staring.

"Were you going to tell me?"

"Why?" Daphne asked. "Were you about to succumb?"

"No, of course not," Harry said. "It was just there, so I tiptoed around certain…"

"Declarations? Affectionate expressions?" asked Daphne. "At this point in our lives, Harry, I think I know you well enough. The way you act with the children, you're a bigger mother hen than I am. You live for them. You aren't going to break this all up. Neither is Tracey. If you require a bit more, and Tracey is agreeable, I won't make a fuss."

"I don't require a bit more," Harry said with some force.

"I didn't think so," said Daphne as she slid across the sofa to Harry. "That's why I don't have a problem confessing I wouldn't make a fuss if you did. Even if it were the case, what's the worst that could happen?"

Daphne's nose was almost touching Harry's. He stared into her eyes and saw nothing but blue. She wasn't even on the way to amber. They closed their eyes at the same time and drifted together.

"Her lips are so sweet," Harry thought, "How did we get past kissing and go on to the next step?"

Harry and Daphne cast the spells to put out the fire in the fireplace, then the lamps, and finally set the wards. Upstairs, they slid in between the sheets and continued to the middle. Daphne raised her head so Harry could get his arm between her and her pillow. He pulled her close and kissed her forehead.

"Did you save anything?" Harry asked. "After, that is, after we were together. Physically, I mean."

"Yes," Daphne said.

Harry waited for her to go on, but she didn't.

"How?" Harry asked. "I don't remember anything going missing."

"Harry, nothing went missing. I know where everything is," Daphne said, sounding slightly put out.

Harry knew he ought to leave it alone, but his mind had a good hold of the conundrum and went its own way.

"Oh," he said, the revelation coming at last. "Your bower."

Daphne let out her breath in a long sigh.

"Yes," she said, "My great magical stag chased me through the woods we had dreamed together and he picked me up and leapt a ravine with me on his back and saved us both, just like I knew he would. Yes, there is a memento of that day, put away safely."

"I suppose I shouldn't pursue it," Harry said. "Witch business."

"True," Daphne said. "It's better for you wizards if you don't know every single detail. That way your egos don't get bruised."

Harry thought over the conversation in the morning while he brushed his teeth. He appreciated the background Daphne and Tracey had provided. He also thought Daphne could have spared him the part about not knowing every detail out of respect for his ego. By the time he was on his way down the stairs to breakfast he was under the spell of the humor implicit in Daphne's comment and in a very good mood.

When the Potters first occupied the rebuilt Potter Manor they had made friends of some other magical families with small children. The social circle of magical children developed into something like what muggles call a play group. Children outgrew the group and went to school and eventually on to Hogwarts or Beauxbatons, but there always seemed to be a sufficient number growing into the group to replace those growing out.

Daphne and Harry had been in an emeritus status for a few years after James aged out, but were right back when Evans and Davis came along. Sometime in the summer just past Harry had an idea. What if the Potters recognized Samhain with a ball for the children in the group?

Daphne had a few questions, of course. Harry assured her the children would not be expected to come in formal dress, nor would they have to eat excessive fall vegetables unless they just happened to like them. Before long they had satisfied themselves it would be fun to throw a ball for the children. Once they'd decided to go ahead Tracey took over planning. Invitations were sent and RSVP's received.

Harry invited Plum for coffee and Daphne laid out the plan for the ball. She advised Plum the woodlanders would be welcome to have their bonfire as usual, but the guests at the Potters would be too young to fully appreciate what they would see in the woods. The Potters would, of course, contribute their usual food and drink to the woodlanders' Samhain.

"But Mother Daphne," said the faun in protest. "Surely you will have to preside over the Samhain ritual for the young witches!"

"You see, Plum, that is just what I can't do," said Daphne, trying for a rueful tone. "They aren't of age to appreciate the significance yet. We are doing a number of modifications. They'll learn a little at a time, and when they're fifteen or sixteen, they will already have a deep love for the old calendar."

Plum considered Daphne's explanation.

"I see," he said. "Of course we respect your and Lord Harry's decisions. The others will want to ask me questions about the food…"

"Oh," Harry said, "Was the pheasant a good choice? And we'll be bringing in some of the morning catch from Cornwall, like last year."

"Those were so appreciated last year, Lord Harry," Plum said. "And the beverages? The others will want to know, of course."

"Oh, we had planned on another of the cider kegs, unless…"

"Oh, the cider was perfect, Lord Harry, that will be more than sufficient!" said Plum.

"More coffee, Plum?" asked Daphne as she picked up the carafe.

The magical childrens' Samhain was a great success. A child-sized bonfire just off the green was lit and extinguished before the woodlanders repaired to theirs, situated well back in the trees. The childrens' cider was tasty and alcohol-free. The marigold bouquets were mainly for the mothers, although two of the young witches handled theirs like veterans.

Harry took charge of Evans and Davis so that Daphne, Tracey and Kendra could pay a short visit to the woodlanders. Harry heard the cheering from the woods all the way to where he stood on the patio, so he assessed the visit a success.

On Wednesday, the week after the ball, Daphne sat in her study at #12 Grimmauld Place and wrote short acknowledgements to all the parents who'd sent notes.

"Lady Daphne," said Kreacher when Daphne had answered his knock. "Madame Carrow and Madame Carrow have come wishing to pay a call."

Daphne got up and went out into the hall. Flora and Hestia stood just inside the front door, still in their cloaks and peaked hats.

"Can Kreacher take your things?" Daphne asked. "And come on in. Kreacher, we'll be needing a pot of tea and two more cups in the study."

Flora and Hestia looked like they were debating keeping their outerwear, but eventually turned the cloaks and hats over to Kreacher, then walked down the hall to meet Daphne.

When everyone was settled, the Carrow twins on the settee, beneath the portrait of Walburga Black, Daphne on her desk chair, Daphne put her hands on her knees and waited.

"Daphne, I have to…" Hestia began, and stopped, not getting any further.

"Just think about why you're here," Daphne suggested. "You had something in mind when you made the decision to come by. Sometimes the words come easier if you focus on that."

Hestia looked at Flora. Flora tilted her head toward Daphne. "Go ahead," she seemed to say.

"Alright," Hestia said, "Here it is. I have a daughter with your husband. Things have been getting brittle between us. If I can't get her attention I'm afraid she'll be doing some self-destructive things soon. I'm not getting through."

"No one wants to see a young person go through hard times," said Daphne. "Least of all people from our generation, hmm? We saw her playing quidditch a few weeks ago. She does resemble our James, of course. What did you have in mind?"

Flora and Hestia sat looking at one another.

"Hestia, her name is Hester, isn't it?" Daphne asked. "Maybe we should talk about Hester for a few minutes. In September, at the quidditch match, I got my first good look at Hester, and I put that together with some other bits of information that had come to me over the years, and I had a talk with Harry, with Tracey present, and we concluded that there was indeed a good chance Harry was Hester's father. Harry told us about his…encounter…with both of you, what would it be? Twenty-something years back. Would I be correct if I guessed you took the linens from his room when you left, all those years ago?"

"Yes," said Hestia. "I thought you'd be furious. That's why I brought Flora."

"I'm not going to judge you, Hestia, or Flora, for that matter," said Daphne. "Your mother taught you the spells? You're not alone. That's nothing to be ashamed of, but may I ask if Hester was intentional? You two weren't playing with spells and potions and had an accident?"

"It was intentional," said Flora. "We both tried but it only worked with Hestia."

"Hang on," Daphne said, "Change of direction. Does Hester know? If so, how do you think we can help Hester? If not, how do you think we can help Hester?"

Hestia looked like she was about to start crying.

"We don't know," Flora said. "Some of the students have noticed how much she looks like James."

Daphne sat against the back of her chair.

"Your motivation was to start your own family? Sorry I have to pry a bit," Daphne said.

"Yes," said Hestia.

"And the conventional method was out for some reason?" asked Daphne. "If you don't mind an observation, from what I was told, it doesn't seem either of you have a problem with ordinary copulation. Why go to all the trouble?"

"There weren't a lot of likely prospects," Flora said. "The wizards who were left after the war were snatched up fairly quickly. I wouldn't have minded being an outside witch for the right married wizard but no one offered. Finally…"

"We decided to give Mother's method a try," Hestia finished.

"And it worked well until you got to the part you didn't think through," said Daphne. "This part right here."

The Carrows sat quietly, staring into the distance, giving every appearance of pondering Daphne's summation.

"I guess so," Hestia said at last.

"Good," said Daphne. "We have begun to define the problem. Do you wish to continue?"

"Yes, of course," Hestia said. "That's really made things clearer, Daphne."

Daphne pursed her lips and looked back and forth between the Carrows.

"Ladies, before we go further," she said. "I can't be a part of any professional discussion with you, or Hester, because I'm compromised. Do you see? I can't be objective."

"What do you mean?" demanded Flora. "You're our classmate, you're a Slytherin…"

"Yes, and even if it was over twenty years ago you spent two days in a hotel room with my husband and who knows how many bottles of firewhiskey…"

"Three days," Flora interrupted as she looked over at Hestia. "Wasn't it three days? And nights? Not counting the part of the first day…"

Daphne stopped talking and looked at the twins in wonder. It took a while, but they did look back at her.

"Oh," said Hestia.

"Sorry," said Flora.

"Look, Hestia, and Flora, we all know what it was like right after the battle," Daphne said, "Relief, and broken hearts and grief, and hope for new beginnings and an end to the pain and craziness. You two taking a little comfort from Harry does not hurt me one bit. I bear you no ill will. I don't feel damaged, believe me. But there is something you should know about Harry. When we discussed this, and shared our information, and our observations about James and Hester, Harry fixed on one thing—no effort will be spared to keep from hurting that young witch. Harry had a very hard time when he was young, and he won't tolerate ill treatment of young people. He wants to do what he can, whatever is right, for Hester. Be aware, though, that he will want to talk everything through in detail, and the lodestar will be protecting Hester. If that is what you want there may be good prospects for a cooperative approach. He loved seeing her at seeker, by the way. Her flying is as much a giveaway as her face."

Hestia turned her head to the side and closed her eyes. Daphne took the box of tissues from the top of her desk and handed it over.

The talk went on through a second pot of tea but Daphne had established the essentials. The Carrows' version was consistent with the Potters' observations, Harry's short history of the encounter at the Leaky Cauldron, and Tracey meeting Hestia in Diagon Alley when they were both pregnant. Daphne pleaded a need to finish up and get back to the country and the issue was left at that. Hestia was to think over what she wanted to do and let Daphne know if she felt a need to get together again.

Harry and Daphne had Potter Manor to themselves after Daphne's return from London. Tracey had weddings coming up over the holiday season and was meeting with clients, in addition to getting the Black estate ready for Black Christmas. She liked being alone at the estate with just Melon and her plans and project materials. She'd have loved to have Zelda with her, but even if she were there Zelda would probably have spent six or seven hours a day on her broom.

The weather was a bit cool for sitting on the patio, but the room just inside was pleasant. Harry was sitting on the floor with Evans and Davis, who were exploring the mysteries of their restricted flight toy brooms, when Daphne came back from London.

"Coffee? Tea?" Daphne asked, throwing the cloak off her shoulders and handing it to Periwinkle.

"I'd take a cup of coffee," Harry said, not taking his eyes off the twins and their wobbly flying.

Daphne sat down at the table and looked at Harry. Something said she wanted to talk. Harry got up and took a chair.

"Don't fly into the house, Evans, I'll have to close the door if you won't stay out here," Harry called before turning back to Daphne. "You've got news."

"I do," Daphne said. "Flora and Hestia Carrow called on me at Grimmauld Place this afternoon. In a wide-ranging conversation they confirmed our suspicions. Our working assumption that you are Hester Carrow's biological father seems to be correct. Of course, there are tests that can confirm or dispel the notion. Still, the physical resemblance, the earlier…ah…"

"Fooling around," Harry offered.

"Exactly," said Daphne. "They admitted making off with the sheets and doing a little witchcraft sixteen years ago in an attempt to become pregnant. Hestia was successful, Flora wasn't."

Harry wasn't in shock as he was during their earlier conversation, having had over a month to get used to the idea.

"Okay," Harry said. "Is there anything they want from us? They waited this long to speak up. Hester is fifteen, or sixteen. They've gotten along without co-parents until now."

"Hestia said she is having unspecified difficulties," said Daphne. "Of course she fears Hester will take up unhealthy pastimes."

"That I can understand," Harry said. "Like every parent these days."

"We had to leave it unfinished," said Daphne. "Hestia didn't have an answer to the question of what it was she wanted us to do. She and Flora have gone home to think about it. Oh, Hestia said some of the Hogwarts students have remarked on Hester's resemblance to James. That is as far as that we got on the subject."

"Well," said Harry, making it a sentence. He sat watching the youngsters flying around the room.

"No crashing, please," he cautioned from time to time.

"I think Hestia has to make up her mind," Harry said. He took another long break from the conversation.

"They've been finessing the question of her parentage for fifteen years?" Harry asked when he returned from his reverie.

"That is what it sounded like to me," said Daphne.

Harry retreated into his own mind once more.

"I grew up in a house where my alleged caregivers concealed the truth about my late parents from me."

Harry stopped talking and returned to thinking.

"This will require self-discipline, on my part," Harry said. "That is not good judgement on Hestia's part, and I will work hard not to say so. At least not in front of Hester. I guess we just wait and see what they want to do next."

"Looks like it," said Daphne.

"What is your mother doing?" Harry asked.

"Don't know," said Daphne. "Why?"

"I was wondering if this were a good time to consult the runes?" Harry answered. "Just to get their perspective on all of this."

Daphne was highly skeptical of the utility and accuracy of runes, as she was of all forms of divination. At the same time, she knew Kendra could render solid advice and counsel, and the runes were often the source. Kendra would say so, certainly.

Daphne disappeared into the main part of the house. A few minutes later she was back.

"Mother's coming over," she said. "It's easier than packing up Evans and Davis, and they're having a good time. It's better not to interrupt it."

"Hullo!"

Kendra's voice sounded from the salon. She arrived moments later at the room just inside from the patio. Daphne got up and kissed Kendra's cheek, thanking her for coming. Kendra offered her hand to Harry, who took it in both of his, bringing it to his lips. Daphne busied herself with the twins and casting _lumos,_ as the outside light was fading fast.

"Coffee? Tea? Anything at all?" Harry asked.

"Coffee would be nice, and a small mineral water," Kendra said as she opened her bag of runes.

"Periwinkle!" called Harry, but the elf was already at Kendra's side putting a tray with a cup of coffee, a small bottle of mineral water and a glass all on the table. Kendra took the items from the tray, which she handed back.

"Thank-you, Periwinkle," she said before turning back to Harry and covering his right hand with hers. "Now. What have you been up to?"

Harry and Daphne related the story of their discussions since the quidditch match at Hogwarts, beginning with Harry, Tracey and Daphne in the study, and Daphne's, with Flora and Hestia, just that afternoon.

"And we were talking just now, and we don't have any reason to doubt the Carrows' word, but we wondered if the runes had an opinion?" Harry said, summing up.

"Oh," said Kendra. "Well, that is quite a story. Maybe tale is better."

"We're talking about magic, and witches, of course," said Daphne. "Anything is possible. I remember…"

"You're a witch, Daphne, anything is possible!" said Kendra, quoting herself.

"Astoria and I used to go around repeating that to each other," explained Daphne.

"You certainly proved it to be true," said Harry.

"Yes, they did, Harry," Kendra agreed. "Far, far beyond anything I imagined. So, let's see…"

Within fifteen minutes the runes had told Kendra all they knew. According to them, Hester was Harry and Hestia's daughter, Hester didn't know, but suspected the truth, and Hestia had not told Hester anything about her origins.

"Well, thanks, I think," Harry said, leaning back. "We have a dilemma, though. The Carrows came to see Daphne, opening up something. A conversation, perhaps. No further steps emerged from that. Hestia is concerned Hester is getting all adolescent, or showing signs, so she and Flora showed a little anxiety without asking for us to participate."

"To be fair, I did explain that I can't see them in a professional context," Daphne said. "That would be completely unethical, besides limiting my usefulness. If they took issue with anything, I would appear to them to be prejudiced. No good comes out of a situation like that."

"Of course," Harry said. "You don't have a choice. Did they want you to take them all on for therapy?"

"Maybe, maybe not," said Daphne. "Hestia couldn't really say what she wanted. She seemed to need to get the truth out. After that she started going in circles. Neither one tried to justify their actions. They just wanted a family, and they thought they had the means to bring one about."

"They got that part right," said Kendra. She looked at Daphne. Daphne looked back. Both of them began to laugh. They were having such a good time they attracted Evans and Davis, who flew over on their brooms and demanded some time on the witches' laps.

"I guess we proceed as if we're certain our information is accurate," said Harry. "What do I do now, according to the ancient and sacred ways of our people?"

Harry folded his hands on the table in front of him, his Potter and Black signets alive in the light.

"Well…," Kendra tried.

"I'm trying to remember…" said Daphne.

"This has to have come up before," Harry said. "Daphne and Tracey explained the use of the materials in potions and conceiving children years later. Witches and wizards haven't been sitting around and not using knowledge of this sort for every conceivable purpose. If we've learned anything from our own unfortunate experiences it would be that. Someone has done this very same thing, without a doubt."

"That is truly astute, Harry," said Daphne. "Of course you're right. We just have to look for cases."

"There is legitimization," said Kendra. "A child is born out of wedlock and a wizard comes forward and swears he is the father. Usually that means the child taking his name, although not always. Then the child has two parents. He or she can inherit when the time comes."

"Makes sense," Harry said. "Probably not the first thing on our checklist. Where would Hestia be, legally?"

"That's one for the lawyers, I think," said Kendra. "Have you ever heard of something like what Harry is describing?"

"Zelda has known Blaise is her father all along," said Daphne. "Tracey and Blaise offered to do the paperwork to change her name, but Zelda has always been Zelda Davis and doesn't want to give that up. That may be to spite her Grandmother Zabini as much as anything. Can't say I blame her."

"Acerbic AND perceptive, sweetheart," said Kendra.

"That is a bit further down the road," Harry said. "I must have some responsibility, if Hestia wants to push. Do I have rights as well? If Hester is recognized, she is an heir, presumably, to something. What in the world has Hestia been thinking?"

Harry's exasperation was showing. Even if he hadn't gotten Hestia pregnant in the usual way, he had had conjugal knowledge of both of the Carrows, and besides, he would have had no problem taking some responsibility for the raising of his daughter from the beginning. Unfortunately, her mother had had her head somewhere other than on her daughter's proper upbringing, in Harry's opinion.

"Harry, my lord," Daphne said. She reached out and laid the palm of her hand on Harry's cheek. "Try not to judge, if I may? It will only get in the way of finding the solution."

Kendra sat still, looking at Daphne and Harry. She knew they must have disagreements, like all married couples, but she had never witnessed Daphne issue a serious correction to Harry over anything. Many of the old family lines had a streak of madness and the heads of houses were particularly well-known for volatile temperaments. Kendra waited, wary, anticipating the explosion.

It never came.

"Of course," Harry said, reaching up and taking Daphne's hand. "Thank-you for the reminder, Lady Daphne."

He kissed the hand before giving it back.

"What I want to do," Harry said, "Is establish that the Potters will do their duty to every one of their number, conventional origins or not. I wish to work in a cooperative manner with Hester's mother, with a view to giving her daughter the best possible chance of success in life. If she wishes to get to know her Potter family, and the Tonks, Greengrass and Davis allies, I will appreciate their support. I will induct her into the Blacks, if she accepts the commitment. If Hester wants nothing to do with us, I will respect her wishes, as will the rest of the Potter-Blacks."

Harry ran out of words. Kendra and Daphne sat there, looking at him. He wasn't negotiating.

"My lord," said Daphne, giving Harry a little nod of the head.

"So, Lady Greengrass, can we interest you in dinner at Potter Manor?" Harry asked.


	59. Chapter 59

Wheels Within Wheels

Iolanthe

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Potterdom: Adjustments and Adaptations

When Harry Potter made his decision on the Potters' way forward in establishing relations with his newly-discovered daughter he promptly put the issue away in a compartment and went back to spending time with Evans and Davis and getting ready for Black Christmas. Harry liked Black Christmas more than any other day of the year, especially when they could schedule it for Iolanthe's birthday on the first.

The weather in Cornwall could be frightful on or about the first of December, but if so the party would just stay inside with the Christmas trees, the red and gold ribbons, Tracey's beautiful decorations and floral designs, and lots of food, wassail and good feelings all around.

Moira arrived with the rest of the Hogwarts delegation on Friday night. James was in his Turley sweater, which everyone agreed was just the thing for December. Moira had one sample completed. She'd brought it to the Black estate so she could show it to Tracey and take any suggestions Tracey might have and apply them to the next piece.

Iolanthe and Moira shared the tower room again. Most of their conversations at Hogwarts consisted of two words: 'Moira' and 'Iolanthe.' Iolanthe took the initiative this time.

"Moira," she said. Moira didn't say anything.

"I know you're awake," Iolanthe went on.

"You would be correct," Moira said. "We just got into bed."

"Are you warm enough?" Iolanthe asked. "I can do a warming charm."

Moira pondered Iolanthe's sudden chattiness.

"I'm okay," Moira said. "Your family provided this nice down comforter, as you know. What are we doing, Iolanthe?"

"Oh, I just thought, we could start communicating more," Iolanthe said. "That is, if you were ready."

Moira interlaced her fingers behind her head and stared up at the ceiling.

"Iolanthe, I don't want to take your brother away from you," Moira said. "I love him. He knows it. Does that make me some kind of threat?"

It was Iolanthe's turn to stop talking and think.

"No," she said at last. "I did think that way for a time. Was it obvious?"

"It was obvious something was going on," said Moira.

"Sorry," said Iolanthe.

"I know," said Moira. "I give you credit for trying."

"I'll do better," said Iolanthe.

"You have been," Moira said, "And I appreciate it, very much. Iolanthe, we are profoundly different personalities. I'm not going to become an intellectual giant like you. I still think James is a genius, of course, but one with a very practical mind. He and I both like staying busy doing things and getting results. He is the most decent human being I think I have ever met, other than my mum. I believe with all my heart there is a good chance I will be able to make your brother happy for a long, long time. Will it please you to see him happy?"

Iolanthe sniffed her nose. She was glad it was dark in the tower room. She looked across the gap at Moira in the bed opposite. Moira's eyes shone as she stared back.

"Yes," said Iolanthe.

"Moira?" she continued. "Where did you pick up 'profoundly?' That is not a fourth-year word."

"I heard it, and could gist the meaning from context, so I looked it up," said Moira. "Used correctly, 'profoundly different' describes us accurately, I think. It should be useful in years to come, as I explain our relationship to new people."

Iolanthe couldn't answer until she restored her breathing.

"So we are ready to be more communicative?" asked Iolanthe.

"Haven't we been doing just that?" said Moira. "Ready to go to sleep?"

"Yes," said Iolanthe. "G'night."

Saturday was blustery and no one felt like a ramble meaning they all pestered Tracey for jobs. Fabio and Kendra arrived early, so Moira got to sit down for some quality time with her mentor. Kendra was very pleased with Moira's progress and told her so. Hermione joined them when the Granger-Weasleys arrived. She, too thought Moira was making strides as a rune-witch.

"What?"

Zelda was the first person Moira encountered when she left Hermione and Kendra.

"You're all aglow," answered Zelda.

"You're dressed, aren't you?" Moira asked. "I'm going up to change. Want to come? I'll tell you about it."

The rest of the weekend went well. Turnout for Black Christmas was good. The return trip to Hogwarts was incident-free for Millicent and the students. Everyone looked forward to the Christmas-New Year break just weeks away.

"She's seventeen," Daphne said.

She sat at the end of the sofa, feet up on the ottoman, in the salon at the Black estate, staring into the cherry red coals in the grate. Harry and Tracey filled out the seating. No one wanted to get up and add a log, so they sat in the dim light, staring as the last ones were slowly consumed.

"Officially a full-blown adult witch," Harry said. "Look out, World."

"I don't know what I'm going to do when Zelda gets there," Tracey said. "This is hard enough."

"You'll cope," Harry said. "I think that is what parents do. We aren't the first family to have our babies grow up. Did you see James and Moira? They were standing together, receiving people. Like a host and hostess! James told me he wants to go to Black Picnic, a little over two years from now, and get married the week after."

"And you said?" Daphne demanded.

"I asked if he'd proposed," said Harry. "He said no. Then I asked if he could at least wait and let Moira enjoy one summer as an adult before they went ahead. James didn't see the point."

"Of course he'd want to make it official and get on with life," said Tracey. "Moira is one beautiful girl. Did you see her skirt? That is the Isle of St. Magnus tartan, but she turned it into a sheath, not a kilt. She took the traditional material and perfect taste and gave it an original look. I can't see the little banshee anymore. She's a Witch Weekly cover-in-waiting.

"When I talked to them they didn't mention any compelling interests that require putting distance between themselves. James was talking about experimenting with greenhouses on St. Magnus. Moira thinks she can find some witches for a knitting co-op. They're serious. It's fun being around them."

"Maybe we'll move to _l'Anse_ ," Harry said. "James and Moira can run all of this. We'll come to visit regularly, then walk away from our mess."

"Brilliant plan," said Daphne. "Well-thought-out."

The coals were the only light in the room. Tracey and Daphne had shed their footwear and Harry was enjoying the way their bare feet looked, silhouetted against the red glow, while trying not to think in hubristic terms about how it was good to be the grandee.

Flames grew over the coals although no one had added anything to the fire.

"Harry Potter!" said a female voice.

"That depends," said Harry.

"It's Hestia," said the voice, adding, "Carrow."

"Hullo, Hestia," Harry said. "You're up late."

Hestia didn't respond.

"Can we do something for you?" Harry asked.

"Did you talk to Daphne?" Hestia asked.

"Of course," Harry said. "We're very close. How can we help you?"

No response.

A slightly different voice spoke.

"Can we come through?"

"Hestia and Flora?"

"Yes."

Harry looked at Daphne, who shrugged. Why not?

Tracey stood, muttered something about getting decent that Harry didn't quite catch, and crossed to the stairs.

"Sure," Harry said, drawing his wand. Daphne drew hers, just in case.

The fireplace filled with green flames and two women came through, the second stumbling slightly as she caught her balance. The ash on her cloak fell to the carpet as her feet hit the floor.

"Sorry," she said, but Daphne wasn't perturbed.

"Melon!" she called. "Melon, a little cleanup there, the ash from the floo. Then the ladies' cloaks to the closet, please. After that's done I expect we might all like a beverage of some kind."

Daphne stood while Melon got rid of the ash and relieved the Carrows of their traveling cloaks.

"So," she said.

Harry stood and started thinking about seating. They needed two more places. Harry did a little wand work and made room for two stuffed arm chairs from the other side of the room. He brought a small side table for each chair, then lit two more lamps to give the room better light.

"Are we interrupting anything?" Hestia asked, realizing Daphne was wearing a long emerald caftan with silver trim. Harry was shoeless, wearing the black trousers from the Black Christmas party and a white shirt, open at the neck.

"Nothing worth worrying about," said Daphne. Melon was back and ready to take orders for refreshments.

"I recommend tea, if you're all agreeable," Daphne said, not getting any demurrals. "A pot of the black tea, Melon, and perhaps a lemon square for each of us."

Melon came right back with a tray holding a teapot and four cups and saucers. Harry distributed the china and Daphne poured.

"Milk? Sugar? Lemon?" Daphne offered.

The lemon squares arrived and everyone took their time eating.

The Carrows had learned social graces from somewhere, it was plain. They complimented Daphne on the house, the seasonal decorations, and the furnishings. They heartily approved of Melon and her obvious skill as a member of household. The lemon squares were the best they'd ever had. They wondered if they were made there at Potter Manor. Daphne gently corrected them, noting they were at the Black estate, but they'd undoubtedly be visiting Potter Manor at some point.

Flora looked from Daphne's hands to Harry's, then back at Daphne's. The Potters didn't make a fuss about titles. On the other hand, there wasn't any need to be coy. They were magical nobility, so the Carrows needed to make their peace with that fact.

Hestia finished her lemon square, put her plate and fork on the table next to her chair and took a sip of tea. When she'd returned the cup to its saucer she looked at Harry.

"Harry, there is something I have to tell you," she began. "Flora and I called on Daphne in London and made a clean breast of it, but decency requires that I tell you, to your face. After our time together, when we were all still very young, Flora and I cast some spells according to some old, old witchcraft, and we used them some years later to try to become pregnant. I conceived and had a daughter. She is in your son James' year at Hogwarts. Her name is Hester. Flora and I raised her ourselves, but she is going through some youthful trials and I worry she may be experimenting. I also think she may be discovering her connection with the Potters. She and James share some features."

Harry looked at Daphne.

"Go ahead," Daphne said, adding, in a very low mutter, "Within reason."

"I'm not going to judge," Harry said. "Tell us why you're here. What do you want us to do?"

"She's your daughter!" Hestia began. "She needs…"

"Exactly," said Harry. "You have never confirmed the facts of her paternity, have you?"

"No," Hestia said. "We didn't think it would matter. I got pregnant and it wasn't possible for her father…That's as far as it ever went. Flora and I raised her together. A little muggle town in Surrey. We barely made it to eleven. She's full of magic. We thought we'd have to move."

"Not Little Whinging, was it?" Harry asked, hating himself for it.

Flora and Hestia sat up straight.

"Right next door," Flora said.

"And now she's figuring out who she is, with no idea how she got here," Harry said, leaning back and looking up at the ceiling. "So she is filling in blank space with speculation, if I remember my own fifteen-year-old mental processes."

Harry looked at Daphne. Daphne smiled and nodded.

"Before we go further, let me say I want to help, and I have no idea why anyone would approach this the way you did, but I will try to keep an open mind," Harry said. "My only goal will be to help our daughter. Are you willing to accept that?"

"I think so," said Hestia, "But could you tell us a little more? What do you mean by help?"

"I owe our older children some information regarding Hester," Harry began. "They have another sister and they need to know the story. I've been holding off until you and I could have this conversation. Hester will have some adjusting to do. An adolescent doesn't go from fatherless girl from Surrey to member of a Noble and Ancient lineage overnight without some issues. If you tell her about me, she'll have expectations. She sees James and Iolanthe and all the people they associate with at Hogwarts. I will try to work out a role she can tolerate. She might need a little help learning to live with it all."

"I thought you could just talk to her," Hestia said. "Give her some advice."

"Hestia," Harry said. "Come on, please. After fifteen years I'm supposed to fly in to see a young woman on the brink of adulthood and say what?"

"Hi, let me introduce myself. I'm your dad, your mum thought you could use a little wisdom from your male parent, so study hard, don't drink alcohol, don't experiment with drugs, don't let the boys manhandle you, and you'll do fine. Owl me if there's a problem."

"More tea?" suggested Daphne.

Everyone welcomed the break, as Daphne suspected they would. She heard a stair squeak and looked to see Tracey about to descend. Daphne waved her over.

Tracey had changed into an emerald silk pajama set that closed up to her throat with fancy silver loops over hammered silver buttons. She had brushed her hair up and back and let it fall freely over her shoulders. Harry noticed her nails were silver, although they'd been crimson just a few minutes before. She had put on a little perfume, something musky, herbal, earthy, smoky, that put Harry in mind of the later stages of a summer solstice revel. He wondered what kind of effect it had on witches, or if it was just something they concocted to put distracting thoughts into the minds of wizards.

"Ladies," said Tracey as she floated across the carpet, her feet silent in their emerald green silk slippers.

"Flora," Tracey said, leaning over to kiss Flora on both cheeks before pulling Flora's head close and holding it to her breast for several beats. Tracey repeated the performance with Hestia. Both Hestia and Flora raised their teacups to their lips, faces flushed and eyes ablink. Harry smiled at Tracey when she looked at him.

"Thanks," he thought, hoping it conveyed.

"Another cup, please, Melon," Daphne called. She looked around for another chair.

"Would you mind one of the chairs from the dining room, Tracey?" Daphne asked. "There's room right here by me."

Melon made quick work of the chair and had a place for Tracey with a snap of her fingers.

"So," Tracey said as she lowered her teacup to her saucer. "We have another quidditch star to deal with."

Daphne leaned against the back of the sofa and let Tracey work a little social magic. The Carrows relaxed, told some tales out of school from Hogwarts days, and settled into the circle. Harry held back, tried to listen and pick up useful facts while letting the Slytherins talk and talk.

"…so maybe she could meet Harry and we could start there," Hestia summed up.

"If it helps Hester," Harry said, "I want to do it. At some point it may be necessary to take the chance it will all be screwed up worse than before. She might be angry at me for being absent, or at you, Hestia, for keeping the truth from her. People in their mid-teens do not always think rationally. Emotion plays a role, or so I've heard."

Harry and Daphne shared a look.

"How do you want to do it?" Hestia asked.

"Pick a weekend when she isn't playing quidditch, bring her home on Friday night and come to the house for lunch on Saturday," Harry said. "James and Iolanthe will be at Hogwarts so we can all sit down around the table and have a meal and talk it through. After that point we will have to take Hester's views into account at each step. You understand, don't you? We can't spring this on her and expect her to return to the status quo ante. It all changes as soon as you tell her about her origins. Another thing, keeping this back is a form of lying. Be prepared for trust issues. You'll have to be honest to a fault. I'll own up to our time at the Leaky Cauldron and you will have to tell her the truth about how she was conceived. She's a witch, if we get lucky, she might think it is the coolest thing ever."

Some of the Black grande dames cackled at Harry's comment, relishing the tricky magic and suddenly-unstuck deception. Harry got the impression the Carrows were making a good first impression.

Hestia and Flora looked at each other.

"Okay," Hestia said as she stood. "Thank you for seeing us, and the refreshments. Everything was wonderful, including our reception. Better than we deserved, perhaps."

"Nonsense," said Tracey, standing up. "If you did what you thought was best at the time, that's all anyone can ask."

She pulled the Carrows in for good-bye hugs once more. Following handshakes with Harry and Daphne the Carrows took the floo back to Surrey.

Tracey stood before the fireplace, hands on her hips, looking at Daphne.

"They haven't changed since school," Tracey said. "Connive, connive, connive, then 'Ooops! Someone tell us what to do next.' Talk about biting off more than you can chew."

"Well, some conniving is to be expected," Daphne said. "By extension, it will get out of hand once in awhile. Otherwise we'd be muggles, wouldn't we? Nightcap, anyone?"

The nightcap ended up being a small glass of elven-made black cherry wine each, hardly enough to make a fuss over. On top of Black Christmas and the meeting with the Carrows it soon had eyes drooping. Daphne saw Harry's head begin to nod and gave his arm a little shake.

"Go on up, we're almost done here," Daphne told him, and Harry got up and headed for the stairs. Daphne took a tiny sip from her glass. The sound of the door closing made it down to the salon.

"Lovely perfume. Did you distill it yourself?" Daphne asked as she set her glass down on the end table. "It's very well-balanced, or perhaps it just works harmoniously with you and your current hormonal state."

"Whatever do you mean?" Tracey asked. Daphne eyed her.

"I like the way the world works around here," Daphne said. "We aren't going to start treating it disrespectfully."

"Of course not," Tracey said. "In fact, I did distill, and decant it, extra carefully, precisely to insure against unbalancing your world. Which I recognize I inhabit by your grace."

"It really does smell lovely," said Daphne, breathing in deeply through her nose as she stood and reached for Tracey's hand. They climbed the stairs that way. Daphne stopped in the hallway in front of the bedroom door.

"You will not go wicked witch on me," Daphne said. It wasn't a question.

"Harry, make some room," she said, leading Tracey inside.

The wizarding world that had been speculating about the three of them for the better part of two decades would have been sorely disappointed had the Daily Prophet published a full report the next morning. Harry and Daphne made sure Tracey knew how much they appreciated her social skills, that were critical to success in their getting-to-know-you hour with the Carrows. Davis got restless and started talking to himself and Daphne was absent until she could get him back to sleep. They learned that they liked cuddling in the beginning but if three cuddle the one in the middle quickly gets too hot and has to move to the outside.

There weren't even any sheepish looks over breakfast. Instead, everyone wanted to talk about the Carrows and when they could expect to have to make good on their offer of dinner.

Harry and Daphne returned to Potter manor with Evans and Davis while Tracey remained at the Black estate to stage her midwinter events. Daphne had taken Black Christmas off from St. Mungo's, so she went in around ten on Sunday morning to see her patients, read charts and consult with staff.

The Hogwarts calendar set the beginning of winter break for a Wednesday. Students who were not struggling were welcome to stay for the Hogwarts Express, or, with their parents' permission, could leave any time after Friday afternoon by private means. Hestia went to Hogsmeade on Saturday morning to meet Hester. They used the floo to go directly from the Three Broomsticks to Potter Manor, where Flora awaited their arrival.

Daphne was having tea with Flora in the salon when they arrived. She called for Periwinkle's assistance with cloaks and hats then stood waiting for one of the Carrows to begin making introductions. It seemed they hadn't worked that out in advance so no one did anything, until Daphne stepped over to Hester and extended her hand.

"I'm Daphne Potter," she said. "You must be Hester."

Hester looked at Daphne for a beat or two before putting her hand forward.

"Hester Carrow," she said, curtsying as she took Daphne's hand.

"Very nice to meet you, Hester," Daphne said. "Can I offer you tea, juice, mineral water? Do you drink coffee?"

"I like coffee," Hester said. "A little mineral water to go with it would be nice."

Daphne asked Periwinkle to take care of everyone's refreshment needs and invited Hester to sit.

"So, Hester, you're a seeker," said Daphne.

Hester looked at her and nodded.

"Four snitches so far this season," she said.

Periwinkle came back and distributed everyone's drinks.

"Where is he?" Hester asked.

"Hester!" said Hestia. Flora looked very uncomfortable.

"Out walking," Daphne said. "If he's not back when you've finished your coffee we can go run him down. I know the way he went. Do you have any questions for me?"

"Do you hate me?" Hester asked. Hestia reached over and touched Hester's forearm this time.

"Hester we are guests!" she said.

"No, I don't hate you," Daphne said. "You haven't given me any reason to. We've been looking forward to meeting you. Do you hate me?"

Hester flinched. She didn't say anything right away, she just looked at Daphne.

"No," she said at last. "I hear you are a good person. You're a healer, aren't you?"

"Yes, I specialize in mental maladies," Daphne said. "There is plenty of work among wizards and witches for my kind of healer."

Hester stopped scowling for the first time since she had arrived. She thought over what Daphne had said.

"Yes," she said, getting a half-smile. "That stands to reason. Iolanthe works with Madame Pomfrey, doesn't she?"

"Yes, she plans to stay for her seventh year and go on for her mastery," Daphne said. "Have you gotten to the point of making career plans?"

"I'd like to play quidditch, if I'm picked up," Hester said. "If not I could teach flying."

The great front door opened and someone called "Hullo!" from the central hall.

"In here," Daphne called back, getting up and crossing the room to open the door. She stepped out into the hall. Harry gave her a questioning look, and Daphne tilted her head, just slightly, toward the salon. Harry took off his cloak and handed it to Periwinkle. He stopped just outside the door and took a deep breath. Daphne touched his cheek with her fingertips and gave him a wink.

Harry stepped into the salon and looked around. He knew the Carrow twins, of course, but he didn't recognize Hester through elimination. The young woman sitting between Hestia and Flora could have been James' twin. She had the same cheekbones, perhaps softened just a bit, a headful of rowdy black hair, and Harry Potter's green eyes.

"Hester," Harry said, extending his right hand.

"Lord Potter-Black," said Hester. She stood, took his hand, and dropped into a curtsy. "I'm so honored to meet you."

"We are so pleased you are here," Harry said. "Periwinkle?"

The elf appeared with a 'pop.'

"Lord Harry?" she said.

"Let's freshen up the drinks for everyone, please," Harry said.

"Of course, Lord Harry," Periwinkle said before disapparating.

Harry waved to everyone to sit.

"It's good to make your acquaintance, finally, Hester," Harry said.

He thought about going on and decided against it. He'd almost said something clumsy about making up for lost time. Harry was improvising. He tried to make himself edit before he opened his mouth. Of course a fifteen-year-old wouldn't countenance her father trying to reverse reality. The best he could do would be to minimize further damage. Even if it wasn't his fault, considering he'd just been apprised of her existence, she would not readily fill the emotional gap caused by his absence.

Harry chose his next words carefully, thinking them through before he started to talk. This left a long silence in the salon, because no one wanted to be the first to speak any more than Harry did.

"Hester, Daphne and I are thrilled your mother and Aunt Flora have brought you to our attention. I'm sorry we didn't know about you sooner, but what's past is past. With your kind permission, we will start over from right now," Harry said.

"Do you want to make up for lost time?" Hester asked, her eyes frozen, staring straight into Harry's.

"No, that's impossible, and I would be insulting your intelligence to try and convince you we can do that. What's done is done. We'll walk and talk for now. Have something to eat together," Harry said.

"Make introductions," he added, as an afterthought. "How long have you known?"

Flora and Hestia shot looks between them.

"Harry…," Hestia tried, but Harry raised his hand, the right one, with the Black signet.

"Miss Hester," he said, "Has the floor."

The Carrows sat there, and took it.

"Mother confessed a few weeks ago," Hester said. "Don't frown Mother, you did. It's true. We sat down and you confessed. You never would tell me the truth."

Hester turned back to Harry.

"First year, some people told me they thought I looked like James, and maybe a little like Iolanthe," Hester said. "I thought it was possible we were cousins, somehow. Half of Hogwarts are third cousins or closer. We don't always know."

"When we went back this year it was obvious we have someone in common, and close. I asked Mother again, after the Slytherin match," Hester finished.

"Mm-hmm," Harry said. "We had our talk here around that time. You figured it out. You're a credit to Ravenclaw. What would you like to do now?"

"I was going to ask you," Hester said. "What is next?"

"I'm not a lawyer," Harry said. "I will be consulting a good magical family law specialist with a view to coming up with options. At the very least we would like to get you familiar with your Potter family history to start. You have a right to know how half of you came about."

The Carrows both took in sharp, audible breaths. Neither said anything, but Harry resolved to have a private conversation with them as soon as possible. If there were still gaps hidden around the truth of Hester's origins he didn't want to find them by accident.

"Let's take a walk," Harry said as he stood up. "Everyone. Periwinkle!"

Periwinkle and Daphne collaborated on getting Evans and Davis dressed for outdoors, then returned downstairs. Outerwear distributed and put on, the little group walked through the house to the patio. Harry led the way across the lawn to the area they maintained for the woodlanders.

"Some old, old species live in these woods," Harry said. "Very traditional creatures, close to the old ways of Earth, the kinds of things that barely come through in a few myths and fables. Wouldn't you say, Daphne?"

"Yes," Daphne said. "They've been here forever. They're kind of shy, with one exception."

"Maybe we can introduce everyone," Harry speculated. "Plum?"

"We'll just wait here for a few minutes," Harry said. "Have you had Magical Creatures yet?"

Plum didn't make a lot of noise as he moved through the woods, so the Carrows could be forgiven if they said he'd just appeared.

"Plum," Harry said. "How is everything? How are the woodlanders?"

"Normal, looking forward to spring," said the faun. He looked at the Carrows.

"Plum, let me make some introductions," Harry said. "This is Flora Carrow and Hestia Carrow, who are Hogwarts classmates of ours. Ladies, this is Plum, who is quite prominent in the woodlander community here."

The Carrows nodded and muttered they were pleased to meet Plum.

"Plum, this young lady requires her own introduction," Harry continued. "Hester is my daughter. I have just made her acquaintance. I hope she will receive the same reception our other children do whenever she visits the woods."

"Of course, Lord Harry, the Potters are always welcome," Plum said. "Miss Hester, I hope we will see you often."

Plum finished with a sweeping bow.

"Wonderful," Harry said. "Best regards to your colleagues."

Harry led the way back to the gardens. They walked the paths as far as James' Exquisite Conservatory. The Potter twins amused themselves by finding little depressions with puddles of water which they attempted to splash on one another.

"This is where James spends his time when he's at home," Harry said. "He started working with my godson, Teddy Lupin, who got interested in plants and gardening when he was young. They both grow magical plants for Daphne's father, Fabio Greengrass."

"What's that?" Hester asked, pointing down to the valley of the Dart.

"At the bottom?" Harry asked. "The River Dart is in those trees. The river made the valley. Let's go this way."

Harry didn't say where they were going but Daphne figured it out soon enough. Harry walked with Evans and Davis so everyone matched the twins' pace. Even so, they reached the outer boundaries of the Mill property in decent time. Harry led the way to the front door, opened it, and motioned everyone inside.

Daphne started a fire in the fireplace, lit the lamps and went ahead to the Baths.

"Bathrooms are through here, if anyone needs them," she said. The Carrows took her up on the offer.

"Hester, have you met the twins?" Daphne asked, then answered her own question. "I don't think we introduced you. This is Fabio Evans and this is Kingsley Davis. Don't try to tell them apart right away. The differences are extremely subtle. They know their names though, so if you want one just ask for him by name. Oh, we don't call them Fabio and Kingsley, they go by Evans and Davis."

"O-kay," said Hester, a bit of hesitation apparent in her tone. "When do I get introduced to the rest of the family?"

"No one has gotten that far yet," Harry said. "We arranged this with Hestia and Flora to let us meet you without a lot of distractions around. We didn't know how you would react to your situation, or to us. Or both. You might have felt negatively toward us from the start. Never wanted to see any of us again."

"It's a lot to take in," Hester admitted.

Flora and Hestia returned to the main room. They stood together, looking around, giving every indication their thoughts were, "Now what?"

"Harry, what is this?" Flora asked. She waved a hand at their surroundings.

"It's an old mill, for grinding grain into flour," Harry said. "I don't know the full history. An ancestor of mine named Iolanthe Peverell married into the Potters. That generation had no male Peverells, so she brought the Mill with her to the marriage. According to my mother-in-law, this site has been a hotspot for magic since the Stone Age, and perhaps longer. Lots of significant Potter history happened here.

"How about some refreshments? Periwinkle?"

Periwinkle materialized next to the table that sat in front of the fireplace.

"A pot of black tea, five cups, some juice for Evans and Davis. What do you think, Daphne? Should we have lunch here at the Mill?" Harry asked.

"We have to eat somewhere," Daphne said, "It's time."

Harry asked about preferences and restrictions before settling on a tray of sandwiches in meat, egg, cheese and eggplant parmigiana versions. While everyone was eating, Harry tried to get some idea of Hestia's plans. She must have some. Hestia, though, seemed content to let Harry and Daphne direct the socializing.

"Are you going back to Hogwarts for Monday and Tuesday, Hester, or are you starting break today?" Harry asked.

Hestia looked at her daughter as if Hester's reply would be news to her.

"I'm caught up in all my subjects," Hester said. "I'm free until we all go back. What do you use this for?"

Harry looked at Daphne.

"Well-l-l," they both began, before Daphne caught Harry's eye and they took a moment. Evans and Davis heard the suppressed laughter and burst out on their own.

"What's so funny?" Daphne asked them, but of course they didn't know.

"Daphne and I started working on it the year before we got married," Harry began.

He went on to tell about the honeymoons, Astoria's affection for the mill pond trout, Iolanthe's friendship with a dragon, Astoria's spectacular funeral, and all the family picnics they'd hosted under the arbor. Harry made the story last until Hester appeared to be done with her lunch.

"We need to see one more thing," Harry said, pushing back his chair. "Out here."

Harry opened the door and led Hester outside. He left the door open.

"Sitting on this bench," Harry said, waving, "Is good for thinking. In fact, I don't recall a problem that I couldn't think through sitting on this bench. Granted, the problem was sometimes there when I got up, and I might have to exert myself a little, but I knew what I had to do."

Hester and Harry sat on the bench looking across the clearing. Little points of light began rising up from the grass and descending from the trees. Before long the fairies had formed their buzzing ball and were hanging in the air in front of Harry and Hester.

"Hullo, Harry," the fairies said. Hester gave a little start, and Harry laid his hand, very gently, on her forearm.

"Hullo, fairies," said Harry. "How are the fairies today?"

"The fairies are as always," said the fairies' voice. "Who is this?"

"This is my daughter, Hester," Harry said. "We just met. I brought her to the Mill, for lunch, to sit on the bench, and meet the fairies."

"Hullo, Harry's daughter Hester," said the fairies' voice. The buzzing increased in volume, getting to beehive intensity.

Harry nudged Hester with his elbow and nodded.

"Hullo…fairies," said Hester. "Pleased to meet you."

"The fairies are pleased to meet you," said the collective voice. Some of the bits of light peeled away from the ball and began circling Hester's head. Before long they made a crown as they did for Daphne and Iolanthe.

"Mr. Potter…" said Hester, a little anxiety showing.

"It's alright," Harry assured her. "They like to make crowns for witches."

"The fairies have been around here forever," Harry explained. "They will be here until the end. THE end. So I've been told. They live outside of time."

"How…," Hester began, but went no further.

"It's hard to wrap your mind around, like a lot of magic, and the concepts underneath magic," Harry said. "They're immortal, so they don't have any use for time. It wasn't useful for them so they never developed the concept. Everyone who has ever sat here on the bench is still here, for the fairies. My advice is be aware, but don't dwell on it. I suspect that way lies madness."

Harry turned toward Hester and looked serious.

"I limit my exposure to things that could drive me mad," he went on. "My suspicion is I may have absorbed too much already."

Harry's comment broke through Hester's reserve and she chuckled.

"They'll be wanting to go back," Hester said, tossing her head toward the door.

"There will be time," Harry said. "Oh, that's presumptuous. If you want anything further to do with us, there will be time."

Harry sat, musing on his word salad.

"You're welcome, here, whenever your mum can give you up," Harry finished.

"What about Lady Daphne, and James and Iolanthe…"

"Here's the thing, Hester," Harry said. "I'm not one to go around flaunting, because I remember, every day, that I was once a poor orphan boy with nothing but my magic and a good wand. Still, I am Harry, Lord Potter-Black, and when I ask the Potters and Blacks to accept a decision, they tend to see things my way.

"Hester and I will be going soon," Harry said to the fairies. "So we will be saying farewell, to the fairies, and Hester's grandmother."

"Lily is sitting on the bench, Harry," said the fairies. "She is very pleased Hester came to meet her today."

"Well," Harry said as he stood, "There you go. Your Grandmother Lily Evans Potter says you're in, if that's where you want to be."

Hester asked Hestia if they could walk back to the manor and leave from there. She fell in next to Harry and appeared to be trying to maneuver him away from the rest of the party. Harry caught Daphne's eye and gave a slight flick of his head toward the house, then walked just a little slower so that he and Hester dropped back.

"I came here this morning wanting to scream and shout," she said. Harry glanced over and saw tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, running down her cheeks.

"Just what one would expect from someone in your position. It is all totally unfair," said Harry. "BUT, always remember you didn't do anything wrong. None of this was your making. Now that you're here, you can make of this what you want. Positive, negative. You're a Ravenclaw and a fine quidditch player. You have a future. If you have to scream and shout and say abusive things to get it out of your system, we can arrange that. Not in front of your mum and your aunt. Their only sin was wanting a family. My sole request is you do it once, and do a good job of it so we don't have to do it a second time."

Hester took Harry's arm and fell in step.

"OH!" she said, "Sorry. May I?"

"Sure," said Harry.

"That was funny. The screaming and shouting?"

"I meant it."

"I know," Hester said.

"You did come into the world in a very magical way, if that is important to you," Harry assured her. "I myself think there is something to be said for that."

"It's actually…" Hester began, before taking a long pause. "I thought she got careless and I was just an accident. Lots of those about. No shame in it, but I do like this story better.

"Mr. Potter?" Hester went on. "Are you angry? At any of us?"

"I regret that Hestia didn't let me know at the time," Harry said. "It would have seemed complicated, but this IS complicated. Plus the time we lost. How about you?"

"No, sir," she said, "Lady Daphne has been so gracious. It's a bit intimidating. Everything."

"Your mother thought you might be having some issues," Harry said. "Learning about this piecemeal. She's worried you're treating your own stress. You know people who are experimenting-drugs, alcohol, sex, dark magic. I know you do. I hope you have some constructive means of discharging any conflicts you're feeling."

"How…?"

"Experience," Harry said. "All that time with the aurors, from the street all the way up to Head. Plus I was young. It's wise to remember old people were young, once. Hester, if you feel pressure to the point…"

"Not to worry," Hester said, her words icy. "I fly and I study. I did get my hands on a bottle of wine last year and got good and drunk in the dorm. It took me two weeks to get the sludge out of my head. I know she thinks I'm doing something. How could I not? I'm the bastard she made in the garage and kept in the dark about my origins my whole life. There is a word for what she's doing."

"Projection?" Harry offered.

"I think so," Hester said.

"So we're getting somewhere," Harry said. "Can you talk to her? Calmly, I mean? Even a little bit, honesty without screaming and shouting. We feel what we feel. That is the difference between emotion and intellect. You might possibly be the one with genuine insight into the other's thinking. Conveying that, calmly, deliberately, lovingly…"

Hester and Harry had caught up to the Carrows, Daphne and the twins. Hester looked at Harry and nodded her head 'Yes.'

Hester walked up to Hestia and laid her arm around her mother's waist.

"About ready? I've had a wonderful time, but these nice people have lives. I was assured there is a possibility we'll be invited back," said Hester. "Plus I brought homework."

There were good-byes all around, then Flora and Hestia stood on opposite sides of Hester, linked arms and disapparated. Harry looked at Daphne, who looked back.

"So, not a bad day's work, for an accomplished grandee," Daphne said. She bent to pick up Evans, while Harry went for Davis.

"Oof, I won't be doing this much longer," Harry said. "Now we need to get ready for Wednesday, don't we?"

"That would be very forward-thinking of you, husband," said Daphne. "Well-done."

When Wednesday afternoon arrived the Potters were able to clear their schedules and take Evans and Davis to meet the Hogwarts Express. Harry and Daphne stood with Tracey, each with a twin in hand. Zelda arrived, followed shortly by James, followed by Iolanthe and Rose.

"So?" said Iolanthe, looking between faces.

"Merry Christmas, darling," Daphne said.

Iolanthe knelt down to young wizard height so she could share some of their observances of the passing parade. Davis pulled his hand from his pocket and showed Iolanthe a toy snake. It was a design that had been popular for a century or more, a green snake made up of jointed sections so that it made a convincing imitation of a real snake's wriggling action.

"Sy-OSS!" said Evans.

"Sy-OSS!" answered Iolanthe, switching to parseltongue.

"Do you speak the sacred tongue, young Potter?" she asked. Evans looked at Davis.

"I told you," he said, all S and Y sounds and broad vowels.

"Did not," Davis said. "I already knew."

"Lads, we're going to have to go home," Iolanthe muttered. "When we get there, I promise…"

"YAY!" said the twins, in English.

"So…," came a voice from over Iolanthe's shoulder. Rose smiled at the twins.

"Have you young wizards been discussing a snake?"

Davis held out his snake for Rose to inspect.

"Oh, my," she said. "Such a fine specimen. Look, it even wiggles!"

Davis basked in the approval. Evans made a grab for the snake, but Rose anticipated his move.

"Have we learned to share yet?" Rose asked Iolanthe.

"Perhaps some lessons over break," Iolanthe suggested. The twins did not put on their enthusiastic faces. "Maybe a game. An exciting game. With points!"

Rose fell in.

"We'd get lots of points for sharing," Rose declared. "The biggest sharer wins."

"That would be an excellent game," Iolanthe confirmed. "Want to see the snake, Evans?"

Evans held out his hand, accepted the toy snake and handed it directly to Davis. Evans had shared before Davis caught on. Davis was not pleased, but didn't know what to do about it.

"I have to go home," Rose said. "I'll be seeing you soon, though."

Rose gave both of the twins melodramatic hugs, being careful not to overdo the squeezing.

"Floo?" asked Rose.

"How about seven?" Iolanthe asked.

"Perfect," said Rose. "You're at Potter Manor?"

"Think so," said Iolanthe. "If not I'll let you know. Chez Weasley, oui?"

"Mais oui," said Rose. She and Iolanthe bumped cheeks, right and left, and Rose took off, trying to keep Hugo in sight. Hugo might have a location for the Granger-Weasleys. Possibly.

The Potters had only added two to the number that had departed to meet the Hogwarts Express but the six that returned took the manor by storm. James went straight to his room and came down in a wool shirt overlain with his Turley sweater, ready to make his initial visit to the Exquisite. Iolanthe took a little longer, bathing and changing into her winter at-home clothing of dark green tights under a black canvas skirt, topped by a gray wool turtleneck she insisted on calling silver, thus echoing her mother's known propensity for continuing to wear her house colors.

Evans and Davis hunted Iolanthe down and wanted to talk. Their parseltongue was excellent, with vocabularies well ahead of the English counterparts.

"Does Father know?" Iolanthe asked.

"We think he does," said Davis.

"We don't know," added Evans.

"So you suspect," Iolanthe summed up. "Mother?"

The twins looked at one another.

"We're pretty sure she heard us," Davis said. "We were playing and talking and she came in the room before we knew she was around."

"She wasn't angry," said Evans, "But she wasn't happy, either."

"She looked at us funny, though," Davis said. "Like she was surprised."

"Oh, that happens sometimes," Iolanthe assured them. "Nothing to worry about. Those who can't speak the sacred tongue can be wary of those of us who can. Have you met any snakes?"

"No," the twins said together.

"Wait until spring," Iolanthe said. "I'll introduce you. The brothers and sisters will want to meet you, since we will all be living here together."

Iolanthe hated to break up her herpetological play group, having just discovered it, but she thought she should probably seek out her parents for some chatter. It seemed odd, since she was very good about utilizing the owls to stay in touch. She wrote mostly for Daphne's reading pleasure, but she knew her mother didn't keep anything concerning her or James from Harry. In theory they should be up to date on any actual news, but they still enjoyed their face to face chats, as did she.

Daphne collected everyone just before six and decreed they would all sit down for dinner together at least once during the holiday season. When everyone had finished the main course, ricotta and spinach ravioli with alfredo sauce, Harry suggested they have dessert in his study.

"It's cozy and encourages conversation," he said.

Periwinkle brought coffee and tea to go with the warm cherry cobbler. James had his with a little vanilla ice cream, which Iolanthe declined.

"We have some news to share," Harry announced, causing Iolanthe and James to stop with their spoons in mid-air.

"We have discovered another member of our family," Harry continued. "A half-sibling to you two…"

"Hester Carrow," Iolanthe blurted out. "I knew it."

"Darling…" Daphne tried. She was going to ask Iolanthe to keep an open mind, but Harry spoke first.

"It's fine, Daphne, Iolanthe is very fair-minded," he said. "She will listen before passing judgment."

James was silent, although he did put his spoon back on his dessert plate.

"Years ago, right after the end of the second war, I…," Harry began. "I spent a few days with the Carrow twins. Hestia and Flora. It was not a responsible thing to do, for any of us. Those were crazy times, it was becoming apparent we would actually have reasonable life expectancies. There was a lot of celebrating. The pressure was off.

"No one said anything about wanting to continue and we went our separate ways," Harry continued. "I didn't reach out to them, nor did they to me. There is some witchcraft involved that your mother can tell you about, if you're interested and she is willing, but some years later Flora and Hestia managed to get Hestia pregnant, and Hester is the result. She is your half-sister."

"Of course," Iolanthe nearly shouted. "She looks more like James every day."

Iolanthe put her spoon down on her plate, which she placed on an end table.

"We had the twins bring Hester over on Saturday," Daphne said. "Everyone was very civilized. We want to have a good magical family lawyer advise us, of course. The Carrows didn't make any demands, for anything. I think they got in contact because Hester was figuring it out. As you say, she shares a certain look with James."

"Comment?" Harry asked. There was quite a break in the conversation, but Harry waited patiently, as did Daphne.

"Is 'How could you?' too trite?" asked Iolanthe.

"It is or it isn't. Doesn't matter, I can give you the how," said Harry. "Young people who have just been through Hell, firewhiskey, a room at the Leaky Cauldron, nowhere to be. I had no ties to anyone, not even your Aunt Ginny, because we were in a period of 'Off Again.' It took two days, but rational thinking returned. I question their judgement, sixteen years ago. Hester, though, was polite and respectful on Saturday. I have been given a chance to do the right thing, with your support."

"Father!" Iolanthe began. She needed a moment for an inarticulate expression of frustration, which sounded like 'E-ughhhh-ngh!'

"Of all things," said Iolanthe, back in control. "Hester is fifteen and we have to get used to her now? How is that going to work? How is magical Britain going to be told about this? An ad in the Daily Prophet?"

"That's not bad, really, Iolanthe," said Daphne. "Something to think about."

Harry thought about Daphne's comment, wondering how she got so good at managing conversations. He was always having the same internal debate, whether it was something she was born with or if Kendra had begun the process and Daphne's professional training finished it. At any rate, Iolanthe thought Daphne had said the funniest thing ever and burst out laughing. Tension broken, the Potters returned to the subject at hand.

"We haven't decided how to go forward," Harry said. "Saturday was just for Hester to meet us and for us to meet her. We took a walk and had lunch at the Mill, told her some basic Potter stories and established contact. The other stuff will get worked out, eventually."

"She seems alright," James said. "I don't really know her. Hugo probably does. You should floo-call him, Iolanthe. Or invite him over to work out and chat him up. You like to wheedle. You pride yourself on it, as a matter of fact. Get him cornered and give him a good wheedling."

Iolanthe looked at James, eyes narrowed and mouth set. She managed to hold it for longer than James thought she could, right up until he mouthed a silent 'Wheedle.'

"One thing to remember, everyone," Harry said. "This was intentional on Flora and Hestia's part. Yes, and I contributed too. It's not any of Hester's doing, any more than our own existence is any of our doing. Agreed? We will all do our best to be cordial. If we don't become best friends we will endeavor to be friendly, at least until it becomes obvious that we can't find any common ground."

"She can fly," James offered. Iolanthe looked over at him.

"Yes, she can," said Iolanthe. "You and Moira can take her up one of these days."

James picked up his dessert and worked his spoon carefully so that he captured a cherry along with a little ice cream. He looked at Iolanthe as he raised the spoon. Iolanthe looked back. James looked at his bite of dessert, then back at Iolanthe. She picked up her plate with one hand, then grasped the handle of the spoon with the other.

"What is she, then, in the family?" James asked. "Is there a word?"

"Excellent question, and I'm very glad you raised it, James," Harry said. "Hester herself used a hateful term on Saturday, in self-disparagement. She called herself a bastard. It hurt me to hear it. Maybe I've brought it up too often, but please remember I didn't grow up in the best material conditions, or with a lot of understanding from the family that raised me. I will try my hardest to be understanding, to everyone. I know you didn't ask for this. If you can join me in trying to be understanding toward all the Carrows, I'll be very grateful.

"As for your question, James, it appears Hester is your half-sister, and my daughter. I don't know if there is a word for Hestia or Flora, or anyone else, for that matter."

"We will take things one step at a time," Daphne said, speaking to James and Iolanthe. "You are the result of the joining of several ancient and noble lineages. You are highly accomplished and I think we can foresee many more decades of achievement ahead, so we won't tarnish that with youthful displays of ill-temper, hmm? As your father said, life was not very kind to him when he was young, and we won't follow that up with more ill-treatment, of anyone. If you feel snappish, or worse, remind yourself who you are, and act accordingly."

"Wow!" Harry thought to himself. "There is nothing she can't do."

"I'm very grateful to your mother," Harry said. "She has been more understanding and supportive to me than I had any right to expect."

"And I am grateful to your father," Daphne said, "For you four. I love him just as much as ever. Maybe more. He has conducted himself as a gentleman. A noble. No excuses, no lies. His only part in this was getting a little celebratory after the end of a very bitter time in our lives. Even so, all he wants is to do what is right by your sister, and to protect her from being hurt by the small-minded. Can we live up to his example?"

Iolanthe stared down at her dessert plate. Her mother was right, of course. She wondered if Harry and Daphne had had words. Did Daphne have to get it out of her system? Probably not. Her priorities were children, husband and her duty to her patients. Everything Daphne had just said was consistent with those.

"Works for me," James said.

Iolanthe wanted James to ally with her, at least long enough to put on a little show of resistance.

"What does she do, besides quidditich?" James asked.

"According to her, she flies and she studies," Harry said.

"Really?" James asked. "Is she in that group of yours?"

Iolanthe looked up.

"I see her in the stacks. She has a study partner from Gryffindor. Zelda would know who it is.

"So, moving along," said Iolanthe, "Do we meet, officially, and acknowledge our new family member? What do we say to people outside the family? Who knows so far?"

"All to be determined," said Harry. "The Carrows are supposed to be thinking this through. We would prefer to have a cooperative approach, of course. If we work together for the next few months, the magical community will find new ways to amuse itself. Maybe we'll take some time away and visit Caroline in _l'Anse_."

"That would be great!" James said. "I need to meet her gardener."

"Mmm…" Iolanthe semi-agreed. "Can I tell Rose? How about the Malfoys?"

"No on the Weasleys, no on the Malfoys," said Harry. "If Rose just has to know or your cauldron will boil over, why don't you see if you're welcome over there and tell her in person? Keeping in mind the Granger-Weasleys might be having some family time themselves, first evening back from Hogwarts and all, just like we are."

Once she took the time to think things through, Iolanthe decided to put off consulting with Rose on the topic of Hester Carrow. She had a floo-call scheduled for seven, but she resolved to keep the conversation off the subject of Hester and the Carrows until she had had a good night's sleep and was fully in touch with her new emotional responses.

Iolanthe rose Thursday morning determined to face the situation with magnanimity and grace. In fact, she felt she could out-grace any half-sister Fate and her father elected to throw at her. She gave herself plenty of time for a thorough workout, not stopping until she felt she would be winded for an hour. Iolanthe was fully recovered after ten minutes, of course, done with her shower in another five, and downstairs in fresh clothing prospecting for breakfast shortly after that.

Harry, Daphne and the twins were making quite a mess of the dining room when Iolanthe walked in.

"James?" she asked.

"Gone looking for an owl," Harry said. "Probably getting current fishing conditions."

Periwinkle stood at Iolanthe's elbow awaiting a breakfast order.

"Porridge, I think, with skim milk, no sweeteners, please," Iolanthe said. "Is there juice? Orange? Mango? Orange-mango?"

"Yes, Miss Iolanthe!" said Periwinkle, "Which would Miss Iolanthe prefer?"

"Orange-mango?"

"Of course," said Periwinkle. She snapped her fingers and disappeared, returning almost immediately with Iolanthe's breakfast.

"Since I have you both here," Iolanthe began, "I would like to visit Rose this morning, with your permission, of course."

"Fine with me," Harry said. "Thank-you for asking, as an adult witch who can come and go as she pleases."

Daphne looked at Iolanthe, who was exhibiting a little blush on her cheeks. When Iolanthe looked back Daphne sent her a wink.

"That's very polite of you, sweetheart," Daphne said. "Your father is completely sincere."

Iolanthe looked at Harry, who nodded his agreement.

"I…" Iolanthe began, then paused. "There is no one on Earth luckier than me. I think of that, and you, every day."

Everyone had to touch a knuckle or fingertip to the corners of their eyes.

"We appreciate that, Iolanthe," Harry said. "We have enjoyed every minute of every day since we got you. If we said it as much as you deserve we'd speak of nothing else."

That was too much. Iolanthe stood behind Harry's chair and wrapped both arms around his neck. She gave him a kiss on top of his head.

"All you need to do is give us our orders, Lord Harry. That's for James, and me. Never think otherwise," said Iolanthe.

"Oh, that's good to know, Iolanthe," said Harry. He twisted in his chair so he could put an arm around Iolanthe and hug her back. "We'll try to give you time to finish your mastery before we become a distraction."

Iolanthe sat back down on her own chair and applied herself to her breakfast.

"Rose doesn't have any work lined up for break," said Iolanthe. "Neither do I, really. I had a vague notion about visiting St. Mungo's, if there is anything I can do to be useful to you."

Daphne and Iolanthe continued consulting on work opportunities for the mid-winter break, a conversation that went off into branches of branches of branches. Harry sat silently until James came back. Instead of talking over the healers, Harry invited James to the patio, scooping up Evans and Davis as he left the dining room.

"Owl away?" Harry asked as he bent to put the twins down on the floor of the main hallway, grabbing a coat and hat for one, which he tossed to James before taking the other set down.

"Gone," James confirmed. "I sent the big guy. He might have some flying to do. With luck, I could get an answer back by dark."

"Let's go this way," Harry said, opening the front door. They took their time working around to the rear of the house.

"Just wanted to make the offer," Harry went on. "If you feel like screaming and shouting, I'll listen while you get it out of your system."

James broke out laughing.

"Please," he said. "It could have been anyone. It's not like you're the first people to experiment upstairs at the Leaky Cauldron. There is a statistic for the percentage of the members of each first-year class who got started there. It's a lot."

Harry looked off into the distance.

"I don't think I ever heard that, James," Harry said. "I would have sworn I had heard every bizarre theory and most of the legends haunting Hogwarts, over time, but that is new. We learn something every day, don't we?"

"I did want to ask, though," James went on, "The Carrow twins were Slytherins. Were they out to get you?"

"I don't think so," Harry said. "At least I never saw any signs of it. They did very well in potions in our sixth year. I just thought they were grinds. Maybe a bit snobbish. That whole pureblood thing was still pretty strong in Slytherin back then."

"Why'd that change?" James asked.

"Voldemort the half-blood preached that pureblood supremacy drivel, then Harry Potter the half-blood finished the fight, which kind of undercut the whole supporting structure," said Harry. "The premise of their doctrine no longer applied. Sadly, a lot of the purebloods who fell for it were killed or locked up, so the next magical generation was correspondingly lower on pureblood children. Just mathematics. It's a shame, really. The traditional purebloods could be very good at teaching the children about the old holidays, magical culture and ethics. Your mother is an encyclopedia of old magical knowledge. I recommend you talk to her about it every chance you get. Same for your grandparents. You might want to let Moira know you're collecting old wisdom. She's going to be seeing a lot of Kendra. You two will be hosting the Samhain Ball someday."

"Gosh," James said, then stopped. He frowned and watched Evans and Davis poking around in a bed.

"Sy-OSS!" said Davis, holding something up over his head.

"Is that a snake?" Evans asked, in parseltongue. "There isn't a snake inside it."

"It's a snakeskin," said Harry, using parseltongue with the twins. He repeated himself in English for James, adding, "Sorry."

"It's okay," said James. "Genetics says it had to skip one of us."

"Well, since it's magic, it could have just violated all the laws," Harry said, then, to the twins, "Let's see."

They talked about snakes and snakeskin for a bit, Harry doing the necessary translations. It was warm in the sun, for December, and everyone was dressed for out-of-doors, so the little group meandered back to the patio. The twins stretched the snakeskin out on a table and commenced an uninformed discussion of snake anatomy.

Harry ordered up hot chocolate for everyone.

"How are you going to handle this, Dad?" James asked. "As the chief of the clan?"

"Be honest with everyone," Harry said. "As far as I know right now, I'm Hester's father. If that is established, there's no point in dancing around. A lot depends on what she wants."

"I just wondered," James began. He seemed to lose his thread, then picked it up again. "I wondered what will happen when we go back?"

"That is something I hope to work out between Hestia and Flora, Hester, and ourselves. A joint approach," Harry said. "My own opinion is we will have a harder time keeping a semi-secret than if we all just acknowledge the truth at once. It's not only that Hester figured it out. Some of the other students may have. Iolanthe just needed confirmation. We'd just as well let magical Britain know, that is. Of course, there may be other perspectives."

"I get it," James said. "The seed is germinating, even now."

Harry looked at James and nodded as Davis set up a howl.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"He hurt the snake!"

"Did not," Evans protested.

The injury turned out to be a tear in the paper-thin skin. Harry drew his wand and motioned for the skin. A quick _reparo_ charm had the skin mended and Davis calmed down. Daphne appeared at the patio door.

"What's going on?" she asked. She cast a warming charm before stepping down onto the flagstones. She gave her feet a moment to luxuriate in the feel of the warm pavers.

"Nice."

"Very," Harry said. "The young men found a friend in one of the flower beds."

Evans held the snakeskin up so Daphne could see it.

"Sy-OSS!" he said, even though he knew she couldn't speak parseltongue.

"Snake!" said Daphne. "Even I know that one. Let's see."

Daphne took the snake skin and stretched it out on the table.

"Grandmother Kendra showed your Aunt Astoria and me a little charm to use on these," she said. "Let's see if it still works."

Daphne pointed her wand and touched the snake skin. It only represented part of the snake, starting some distance back from the head and ending approximately where the tail would have begun, but it assumed the shape it had been in life and began to crawl. Davis and Evans were delighted, spreading their arms out whenever the reanimated skin crawled too close to the edge of the table, guiding it back toward the middle.

The charm was fairly short-lived, lasting around a minute. The twins petitioned for a re-do but the snake skin tired easily.

"We'll put it somewhere so it can rest," Daphne said. "Maybe this evening it will feel like moving."

Iolanthe appeared in the doorway.

"All," she said. "Mother and Father are required in the salon. Floo-call."

When Harry and Daphne had gone inside, Iolanthe sat down with James, Davis and Evans.

"Hester," she said.


	60. Chapter 60

Wheels Within Wheels

Iolanthe

Chapter Sixty

Consensus, of a Sort

After the war, Flora and Hestia adopted a very low profile in the magical community. They hadn't been charged with any crimes or inappropriate dabbling in dark magic, but they were Carrows. Being a Carrow in the aftermath was suspicious all by itself. A half generation of British wizardry suffered mistreatment by Carrow methods at Hogwarts, and several times that would have to be born and grow up before the stain faded.

The twins' choice of housing was a result of their deliberate approach to distancing themselves from magical society. The detached house and garage in the Surrey suburb next door to Little Whinging was a calculated choice. They had even learned to drive a car and acquired a faded Opel they parked in the drive.

They attended their local Anglican church, where Flora directed the choir. Hestia was a checker at a nearby supermarket. As long as exchange rates were stable, they didn't really need jobs. Some family money, invested wisely, was sufficient for their upkeep, as long as they didn't dip into capital. Their jobs didn't pay a lot, but they took them to be seen in the community. When Hester left for Hogwarts the twins told the neighbors she was going to their old school, the location for which they deliberately left a little vague.

When asked where it was, they'd just say, "Scotland," and leave it at that.

Just before Christmas the Carrows invited the Potters to dinner, requesting they come by floo rather than apparating or using a port key. Their careful construction of an apparently muggle life in a muggle suburb wouldn't be well-served by the sudden appearance of a family of six on the tiny front lawn. The Potters divided into pairs and traveled as three units. One neighbor noticed green flames shooting just above the top of the Carrows' chimney. He telephoned to make sure everything was under control and seemed satisfied when Flora told him they were using a chimney cleaning treatment, but thanks for checking.

Hester took James and Iolanthe in hand for a tour of the house and back yard, while Flora and Hestia ushered Harry, Daphne, Evans and Davis into the lounge. Harry looked around at the rooms, seeing familiar dimensions and traffic flow. He didn't feel nostalgia, but neither did he sense gloom, doom or post traumatic stress.

Harry had made mental adjustments to accept his childhood for what it was. The years from the attack in Godric's Hollow until he departed for Hogwarts were something he went through to learn the world was unjust, and to cultivate his capacity for empathy so he did not add to the sorry human ranks of abused growing into abusers. At Hogwarts he learned the value of friendship, of allies, and of mentors, and the value he could add to lives as a friend, ally and mentor. Together, the time he'd spent in Little Whinging was as much of an education as school and his training with the aurors.

Harry hoped Hester's years in Surrey were more pleasant than his had been. Flora and Hestia might be odd, even for witches, but they didn't exhibit the pure orneriness the Dursleys had heaped on Harry.

"Something to drink?" Hestia asked, standing up.

"Anything, whatever you have," Harry said. "Nothing too strong."

"Mineral water?" asked Daphne.

"Thank-you for coming," Flora said while Hestia busied herself in the kitchen. "Hester suggested this. I think she wanted to return your hospitality."

The younger folks' tour of the house and garden had reached the patio. In addition to the gas grille the Carrows had a table and chair set for pleasant weather. It wasn't exactly pleasant outside, but Hester asked if her guests would like to sit.

"Sure," said Iolanthe, "Thanks."

She drew her wand.

"Might as well be comfortable," she said, silently casting a warming charm before slipping the wand back into her sleeve.

"Mmm…" said Hester, "Thanks. What's it like being seventeen?"

"It does decomplicate a lot, I'll admit," said Iolanthe. "What has it been like being you?"

"Before, or just recently?" asked Hester.

"I kind of wondered about both," Iolanthe told her, looking around at the nearby houses she could just see beyond the hedges.

"Odd, I'd say," Hester said. "Mum and Aunt Flora weren't intimidated when kid magic happened around me, but I think growing up might have been a bit like being muggle-born. They tried to blend in with the surroundings. I didn't know what Carrow meant in the magical world until Hogwarts. If I'd been them I might have done the same."

"That's not you, though," said James. "We can't re-live the last generation's lives. You're not even a Slytherin."

"Thank-you, James Greengrass," said Iolanthe.

"Now, I didn't mean…" James tried.

Iolanthe looked at Hester and gave her a quick half-smile.

"Did you have friends in the neighborhood?" Iolanthe asked.

"A few," said Hester. "I was able to go to the local primary. Mum and Aunt Flora worked with me so I could control my temper. No one got accidentally cursed. There is a magical couple a few streets over, although they don't have children. We'd socialize with them two or three times a year. It's a very conventional neighborhood. No one claiming second sight or doing Tarot readings for friends, so the people here aren't convinced they're seeing witches everywhere they look. Mum and Flora did a good job being low-key suburban householders for a long time. It worked up until this year. Then we all started to get our adult faces."

Something about that got through to everyone.

"Couldn't be helped," said James. "What's next for you?"

Hester's face fell. She looked genuinely troubled.

"I don't know," she said. "Was there any gossip after I left? I wonder how many people at school know?"

"Good question," said Iolanthe. "I didn't hear anything."

"If anyone was guessing, I didn't hear it," James said. "Now that the three of us know, we can talk."

"I know James is already a grower," Hester said, "And you're working with Madame Pomfrey. Any particular area you're drawn to?"

"Not yet," said Iolanthe. "You?"

"Professional quidditch, if I can catch on with a team," Hester said. "I know I could teach flying but there are so few positions."

"Yes, that's a Potter trait," James said.

Hestia Carrow opened the back door and leaned out.

"Are you ready to join us or will you be dining out here?" she asked.

Hester showed James and Iolanthe where to wash up before going upstairs to her own bathroom. The house wasn't big enough to require directions to the dining room. By the time Hester, Iolanthe and James returned, dinner was on the table.

"We have an excellent fishmonger, a little family-run place. This fish had just come in this morning," Hestia was saying as everyone got settled. "I cut and fried the chips. They had the pea pods at work."

Hestia picked up the platter of fried cod and held it so Daphne could take some.

"Thank-you, Hestia," Daphne said. "What are your plans for break, Hester?"

"I have my books," Hester said, "They gave us some homework to do. Not too much."

"Perhaps the witches could get together for lunch before you go back," Daphne suggested.

That night, the Potters returned to Potter Manor with a week's worth of pent-up conversation. Flora and Hestia's adoption of muggle protective coloration was at the center of it all. Everyone agreed they had done well, subduing their magic enough to avoid attention. The Carrows had once had an ancient house elf. They had granted her retirement and arranged for her to live with her daughter who served another magical family. After that they had maintained their home on their own, locking the exterior doors and pulling down the window shades every Saturday for a few hours of magical housekeeping.

The Carrows had woven similar blends of magical and mundane through the fabric of their lives. They had been very successful in staying out of sight in the magical world, raising Hester in obscurity until it was time for her to begin her studies at Hogwarts. Life might have followed that pattern indefinitely but for James' presence in her year.

The twins were tucked in when Iolanthe joined Daphne in the library-gallery that evening for some consultations.

"They seem like nice people," Iolanthe began. Daphne closed her journal, her finger inserted to stay with the article she'd been reading.

"I was just wondering what you thought we should do when we go back to school."

Daphne looked at Iolanthe. She knew her daughter. Iolanthe's store of empathy was boundless. She would want to protect Hester from barbs, arrows and insensitive boors. Iolanthe wanted to protect everything, possibly excepting Jacques Lafleur, the Potter family pig. Daphne had no doubt Iolanthe was asking how she was supposed to minimize any hurt that might be waiting to ambush Hester.

"You'd like to see Hester transition from anonymous Ravenclaw to recognized Potter, or Potter associate, with minimum comment from back benchers?" asked Daphne.

"Exactly."

"I'm not sure that is possible," Daphne said. "Just being a daughter of Harry Potter, coming to light after all these years, Hester is going to be newsworthy. The temptation will be to form square and defend the colors. In this case our ideas may be fine, for us, but what about Hester? How do we know she wants to be defended? We don't even know if she wants to do more than trade invitations to dinner once or twice a year."

"Hmm…" Iolanthe said, staring into the fireplace.

"We can't assume we know what Hester, or Hestia, for that matter, is thinking or feeling right now. This is new to all of us," Daphne concluded.

"Father wants to get to know her," Iolanthe said. "He'll want to make her a Potter. He is holding it in, but I can tell."

"Oh, he is bending over backwards trying to do the right thing, as he sees it," Daphne agreed. "He just naturally assumes that means Flora and Hestia adjusting to the idea that Hester become our protectee. Not adjusting, I should have said embracing. The fact is those two are highly capable, independent witches who worked hard to do a very particular thing—make lives for themselves completely outside of what you and I think of as magical society. I can understand why they did it. I can also detect some fear in them. All of their work could be completely undone by this. They could lose everything, if the story of our connection takes on a life of its own."

Iolanthe held the _Odyssey,_ stroking the leather spine as she studied the flames.

"What's the story on the Carrows, anyway?" Iolanthe asked. "Why go to all that trouble? Do they just prefer muggle life? They don't seem to be afraid of magic."

"Oh, I don't think they're afraid of magic at all," Daphne said. "You weren't around, of course, but in our seventh year two Carrows held faculty appointments at Hogwarts. They were devotees of that abomination Tom Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort. Lots of students were badly mistreated by those Carrows. Flora and Hestia just withdrew themselves from society. Magical society, that is. They kept a low profile and spent most of their time appearing to be a pair of muggle sisters."

"I'd heard of the two from back then," Iolanthe said. "No one seems to connect Hester with them. It's not like there's a shortage of infamy attached to some of the clans. Walter Goyle is a Slytherin. He's not evil, although I have heard Harry Potter clashed with a forebear or cousin or something."

"Very astute, Iolanthe," said Daphne. "I'm a Davis, of course, through Mother, and that family could have gotten itself wiped out if they'd been unlucky enough to become Death Eaters. Even today some of the ones on the fringe wouldn't shake hands with your father, if you can imagine that. He kept them out of Azkaban. How is that for gratitude?"

"I take your point," Iolanthe said. "They will have to take the lead, won't they? Where did you want to go to lunch?"

"I was thinking you could invite Hester," Daphne said. "If they accept, I'll suggest Flora and Hestia and I join in and make it a little bigger party. If we ask open-ended questions and let them talk while we listen carefully, we might become a little clearer on what they'd like to do. Remember, all Hestia asked, originally, was that we answer Hester's questions about her origins. That's done, now. Maybe that is as far as they are willing to go."

Iolanthe nodded.

"So, where?" she asked.

"Oh, I think Morgan's, don't you?" Daphne said. "Lunch in the restaurant, tea and dessert in the witches' lounge?"

"Very low-profile, Mother," said Iolanthe. "Ingenious, really."

Both of them turned their attention back to their reading.

The lunch scenario worked exactly as Daphne had outlined it to Iolanthe in the gallery at Potter Manor. Once Hester had accepted the invitation from Iolanthe, Daphne was able to expand the party to include herself and the two Carrows.

Iolanthe and Hester went ahead to Morgan le Fay's. It was Hester's first visit so she got the full Madame Ba welcoming treatment. A table was ready with a view to the south, so a search for Hester's town made for lots of passing-the-time conversation.

"I don't get it," Hester said, "We're up here, with this view, but we're not?"

"As I understand it, yes," said Iolanthe. "Starting from the lobby, you could climb all the way to the top of the building and this floor and the one just above would not present themselves, but if we come via the floo, we just pop out there with Madame Ba and she treats us like royalty. I rather like the mystery, to be honest."

Madame Ba arrived with the rest of the party and stood while some wait staff appeared and got the Carrows seated. Daphne took care of herself, not wishing to prolong the exercise.

"The rocket salad with cheese curds is indescribably delicious today," Madame Ba began, "But for those with such tastes the cold pheasant platter has earned some compliments, roast beef on a Kaiser roll is a perennial favorite, and the house-made fresh spaghetti comes with your choice of a meatless tomato sauce with garden vegetables or an alfredo sauce with chicken. We'll give you a minute or two to mull it over."

The witches divided evenly over the salad and the vegetarian spaghetti dish until Hester ordered the pheasant.

"I've heard of this place," Hestia said, "Doesn't Blaise Zabini have something to do with it?"

"Blaise and Oliver Wood organized it," said Daphne. "It's a club. They just wanted a place they could count on to have seats at lunchtime. You know how the Leaky Cauldron gets."

"Are you gossiping about my Dad, Daphne?"

Daphne turned around and saw a great crimson and gold silk scarf worn as a shawl over a pair of fairly broad shoulders. It had the look of the scarves Tracey favored, from one of the better-known French houses. She looked up into Zelda's beaming smile. Zelda wrapped her arms around Daphne's neck and pulled her close.

"Better than not being talked about," said Daphne purloining a bit of Wilde.

"Iolanthe," Zelda said as she let Daphne go. "Hester."

The two seekers looked at one another.

"Zelda," said Hester, adding a slight nod.

Tracey walked up behind Zelda.

"Lunch?" Daphne asked.

"Business lunch," said Tracey. "March will be here shortly. Someone heard there is an equinox coming, wants to talk about doing something. We took one of the smaller rooms. Right Zelda?"

"Um-hmm…" Zelda said. "Very conducive to making a deal."

Tracey took off for the stairs. Zelda and Hester shared one more, very slight inclination of their heads. They'd be more cordial once quidditch season was over.

Everyone agreed the food was excellent, as it always was at Morgan le Fay's. When the wait staff came to clear the table, Daphne rose and led the way to the lounge Blaise had told Harry about on Harry's first visit.

The witches' lounge was not an official designation. No plaques announced 'Witches Only' or made any other reference to gender distinctions. It was as Blaise had said—right from the beginning, the witches had predominated in the space just as wizards did in the paneled reading room. As time passed the arrangement gelled into custom so that now the witches had a place to go where they could talk about whatever they wanted, in whatever terms they chose to employ, without concern for wizard sensitivities.

"I hope you like fruitcake," Daphne said when they'd taken their seats. She was still pouring tea when the staff arrived with a large tray holding five small plates for slices of fruitcake, a bottle of brandy, and a small bowl of a yellow lemon sauce.

"Let's sit back," Daphne advised as the server got ready to perform the ritual brandy-soaking and lighting.

"Uh, I don't drink," Hester said.

"Neither do I," Iolanthe assured her. "The alcohol is all burned off, in theory."

Hester thought about it, declining brandy in the end, in favor of a serious topping of lemon sauce.

Daphne and Iolanthe stuck to their script throughout lunch, dessert and tea. Their purpose was always to learn from the Carrows what it was the Carrows wanted to do. There weren't any surprises, surprisingly enough. Iolanthe and Daphne had covered everything during the conversation in the library/gallery. The Carrow twins had carefully curated a quiet life for themselves and Hester, using magic among family and conventional artifacts of modern mundane life when muggles were about. Had Hester not shown magical ability and received her Hogwarts letter they could have lived out their lives as ordinary Surrey householders with none the wiser.

As it was, the proximity of James and Hester at Hogwarts guaranteed they would be noticed, once the family resemblance began to emerge. Now it appeared the Carrow twins were suspended in a kind of stasis between those two points, over a chasm of unknown eventualities. They didn't make any demands or requests of the Potters. Flora and Hestia were actually happy for Hester, particularly her success at quidditch. Hester loved flying and competition, and she was quite happy being a witch. The twins' concern was that she would be hurt by small-minded comments about her origins. Being a Carrow caused her no social problems. The Potter connection, now too obvious not to acknowledge, might be the thing that tipped the balance.

"What's the name of that Channel Isle you went to see?" Iolanthe asked Daphne when they were alone again at Potter Manor.

"The magical one?" Daphne asked. "St. Guinefort?"

"That's it," said Iolanthe. "I'd like to invite Hester on an outing. Not at anyone's house, or club. If her mother would allow it, I'd take her to St. Guinefort. We'd stroll around being a couple of tourist witches, breathe sea air, I'd buy her some fish and chips, and we'd come home. I'm at a loss for what to do. I don't even know if I'm supposed to acknowledge her. We're going to be going back to school. I'll do whatever she wants, if I know what it is."

Daphne considered Iolanthe's proposal. Whether it succeeded or failed, her daughter's approach showed thought and originality. It might work. If it didn't, so what? None of them would be any more in the dark about the Carrows' wishes than they were at present.

"Did you talk about Christmas?" Iolanthe asked.

The Potters had touched on Christmas, briefly, but inconclusively. If the Potter children gave Hester something, she might feel obligated to reciprocate. Time was short and there were four Potters. It was another decision best held in abeyance pending additional information.

"No more than before," said Daphne. "Ideas?"

"The day trip to St. Guinefort, by port key," Iolanthe said. "My treat. If we're just sightseeing there's no reason for Hester to feel obligated."

Daphne thought that an excellent idea, and raised it with Harry. Also enthusiastic, Harry made a surreptitious scouting trip of his own, just to walk the streets and get a fresh feel for the place. He was also drawing on his auror senses, looking for cues that this or that storefront had an air of vice or corruption and was no place for young ladies to be stopping for coffee. When he returned to Potter Manor and told Daphne about his reconnaissance, she thought it was a bit overdone, but still very, very sweet of him.

The logistics for the trip to St. Guinefort were simple. Hester came to Potter Manor by floo, then she and Iolanthe went to St. Guinefort with the port key, a cane of osage orange with a hefty silver handle. They landed in the same area on the edge of the town that Harry and Daphne had used. Iolanthe took a minute to look around.

"We've got the port key with us, so all we have to do is be together when it activates," Iolanthe said. She pulled out the tourist booklet Harry had given her and turned to the map page.

"We're here, there's the town, that's north, that way is south. Let's go see what St. Guinefort has to offer."

"Merry Christmas, a little late," added Iolanthe. "The weather ought to be better than at home. It's all managed with enchantments."

"Oh, thank-you!" said Hester. "I didn't realize…I don't have anything for you. Wish you'd said something."

"Having you here is your present to me," Iolanthe said. "Mother and Father came over here for lunch once, and I've been trying to find a way to come see it for myself since. Change of subject: How's your French?"

"Ah…Merry Christmas to you, too, then, and thank-you for picking me," said Hester. "My French is basic. Un peu, seulement."

"The local population is supposed to be almost one hundred percent bilingual," Iolanthe said, adding as an afterthought: "If you want to practice."

They walked down the track, Iolanthe flipping the cane out ahead of them, getting into her rambling gait. She tried to remember to pay attention to Hester, but Hester didn't appear to be having difficulty keeping up, so Iolanthe settled in and enjoyed the walk to town.

St. Guinefort was still decorated for Christmas, with greetings in French and English and a few more European languages here and there. The one Chinese restaurant was draped in great crimson banners offering greetings in golden characters. Up ahead Iolanthe saw the sign for Le Coq Blanc.

"I've heard of that one," she said to Hester. "Mother and Father had lunch there. What do you think the owner's name is?"

Hester thought it over.

"Monsieur Henri," she said.

"Mais oui," said Iolanthe.

"Perfect," said Hester.

"We don't have to eat there," said Iolanthe. "I'd thought they probably have perfect fish and chips somewhere in town, so I'm going to keep my eyes open, but if we don't find someplace we want to go, we can always come back."

"What exactly did you want to do, Iolanthe?" Hester asked. "Seriously."

"I take it you mean besides tourism," said Iolanthe.

"Uh-huh," Hester said. "You aren't obligated to do anything for me, or include me in your Potter activities, or treat me as anything in particular. I'll be grateful if you don't start calling me your bastard Carrow sister, but I don't have control over that."

"Oh, sweetie," Iolanthe said, her tone genuinely mournful. "Don't ever say that, ever, or think it to yourself. Where did you get the idea…"

Hester stared straight ahead.

Iolanthe tried a different approach, seeking to depersonalize a bit because Hester clearly had some tender spots that needed proper deference.

"We'll be heading back to Hogwarts in a few days," she said. "I don't have to tell you everything has changed with us since you got your mother to tell you about…"

Iolanthe caught herself.

"Since you learned the whole story of your parents."

That wasn't quite right, either, but it had a better finish than the sentence she'd begun.

"How do you want me to act, when we're back at school?" asked Iolanthe. "Nice? Neutral? With feigned ignorance of our relationship?"

"I don't know," said Hester, a little pain and confusion coming through. "I don't have any experience with this."

Iolanthe couldn't help it. She broke out laughing, and Hester joined in.

"Who does?" Iolanthe asked.

"I know!" said Hester. "I have a famous father. I just found out. Whoopeee!"

"We're all in this together," Iolanthe said as she struggled to stifle the laughs. "There's no getting out, as far as I can tell. Your mother and aunt did a wonderful job raising you and providing for you, it appears. If it's a slightly unconventional family it's still a good one. They won't want us trying to take you away, and I agree, completely. On the other hand, we can't just ignore you. Even if we wanted to. You and James have three more years of school. It's better if we have a joint approach."

They walked along, stopping to look at the shop windows, some of which were completely seasonal, others announcing Boxing Day sales, still others hosting imaginative displays of the goods sold within the shop.

At some point Hester reached under Iolanthe's arm and linked up. Their pace slowed and they fell into a conversation with no particular subject. They could come back to their discussion some other time. Hester had known her whole life that Daphne and Tracey had been housemates of her mother and aunt. Like many young witches she thought Tracey Davis was the epitome of witchy beauty and style. She was also acknowledged to be the premier magical event organizer in Europe. Naturally, Hester wanted to know what it was like growing up around Tracey Davis.

Iolanthe said it seemed normal, since she had known Tracey forever. It wasn't until just a year or two past that she had suddenly realized people paid Tracey to come do their parties and receptions. There appeared to be a natural division of labor when she was growing up. Harry went to work at the ministry, Mother went to work at St. Mungo's, and Tracey planned their social life. She also coached Iolanthe on hair, nails, colors and social niceties. She made writing little notes fun. Iolanthe still liked sitting down with cards and envelopes and dispatching warm messages of thanks and good wishes.

"Wow," Hester said. "Do you think she'd let me…"

"Sit in?" Iolanthe asked. "Of course. You'd be welcome any time. Tracey loves mentoring. She loves beautiful things. I honestly think she conceives of her purpose in life, after Zelda, to be going around beautifying the world to the extent she can in the time she's been given. Make sure your mother is okay with it, though? Don't want to step on toes."

Hester smiled at Tracey's description, as related by Iolanthe.

"What was it like for you?" Iolanthe asked. "Growing up? Did you have magical family you went to see on holidays?"

"Not much," Hester replied. "I must have always known my mother and aunt were witches. At least, it's not clear when I learned, so it must have been very early on. Family was mostly them. I've met people who were vaguely related, somehow, but it wasn't clear how we all fit together."

"You don't think there were relatives who kept their distance because of…"

Iolanthe's mind caught up to her mouth.

"Oh, I am sorry, Hester, that was uncalled-for."

"What, because they knew about my origins? Who it was, how I came about?" Hester asked.

"Well, yeah," said Iolanthe. "I don't know a lot about the Carrows but I know there were some on the other side. I can guess they didn't all come out of the war fit as fiddles. There's some bitterness in Mother's family, too."

Hester was brought up short.

"What? The Greengrasses?" she asked, now totally confused. "Weren't they neutral?"

"No, the Davises," said Iolanthe. "They most certainly weren't. Grandmother Kendra knew better. She'd have been disowned but she was already married to Grandfather and gone from the house. Great-grandmother Davis didn't start warming up to Father until James and I came along. Now she thinks Evans and Davis are the most wonderful children ever, except for Zelda, and Scorpius."

Hester walked on, window-shopping and mulling Iolanthe's biographical notes.

"I have a lot to learn," Hester said. "Does that look like a fish and chips shop to you?"

Hester pointed up ahead to a sign with a fish painted on it.

"Either that or a fish market," Iolanthe said. "Let's see."

They were in luck. The odor of hot oil came out the door to meet them in the street. Inside they found a counter where the proprietor took orders and rang up sales. There were tall round-topped tables where customers could stand and counters along the walls made from simple planks. The counters were supplied with tall stools, napkin dispensers and bottles of ketchup and vinegar. Iolanthe and Hester waited for their orders, which they immediately took outside. Iolanthe cast a little cleaning charm at the table top and two chairs.

"Whoo," she said. "Just a bit fetid inside there."

"There are freshening charms," Hester added. "I've heard."

Iolanthe pinched off a chunk of fish and popped it in her mouth.

"Ohhh…" she said. "I know what my Christmas season has been missing. Not comparing to your mother's of course but there is something about a good fry-up from a proper shop."

Hester nodded as she took in a good bundle of _pommes frites_.

"Where are we, exactly?" Hester asked.

"It's an island, out in the Channel," Iolanthe explained. "It is all magical. It's unplottable and there is a perpetual fog bank around it."

"I love it," said Hester. "I've got to tell Mum. Maybe I can get her to come back, with Aunt Flora. What do people do here?"

"I'm not exactly sure," Iolanthe said. "Mother and Father were here once, like I said, and I heard about it from them, and always wanted to come and see it. My need for a Christmas present for you intersected with a desire to see St. Guinefort. There are beaches on the north and south shores. Rocky places, too, but enough sand to qualify. You came along and gave me my justification for coming over. My understanding is they host magical tourists. Father has talked about bringing everyone for a getaway, but my understanding is we would have to completely take over one of the guest houses. Maybe it's possible, I don't know."

"This has been fun," said Hester. "Mum and Aunt Flora took me to Dover and some other places, to see the natural wonders. We went to Bath once. I was a little too young, I think. The Romans. It felt like they were there. I can't explain it."

"I know what you mean," said Iolanthe. "You can sense the old magic. We aren't at home in it. It gives everything a kind of in-between feel. I get it in museums. Mother and Grandmother do too.

"Clean-up?"

Hester dropped her napkin and held out her hands for Iolanthe's cleaning charm. Iolanthe did her own hands and put her wand back inside her sleeve. She stood and picked up her cane, took all of the paper waste and put it in the bin.

"Time we checked out the White Rooster," she said.

They walked in the general direction of Monsieur Henri's via a street parallel to their original route. The sightseeing and window shopping were just as good one street over. Iolanthe tried to identify the guest houses and remember their names. She was not going to let the Potters' vague plans for a family holiday in St. Guinefort remain unfulfilled.

"At least we're in different houses," Hester observed. "No one will be watching to see if we're eating together. Or not eating together."

"True," said Iolanthe. "Ravenclaw to the rescue. How do you like it there?"

"Love it," said Hester. "I always tried to get the best marks I could, even before Hogwarts. Don't ask me why. Maybe it's the way I feel when I'm really focused. Everything else goes away. No noise. Just that new knowledge going in."

"Oh, you're the same as me. I like it. How about the alleged competition?" Iolanthe asked. "Ever get tired of that?"

"Some people overdo," said Hester. "I can't deny it. One of the upper class witches took me in hand first year. I learned the grinds are the ones who are missing the point."

They encountered a large puddle in their path, and crossed the street to the opposite corner. Le Coc Blanc was visible one street over.

"Here we are," said Iolanthe as they walked the cross street. The restaurant was open, the sidewalk chairs and tables ready for occupancy.

"I'm ready for a pot of tea," said Iolanthe. "You?"

"Tea," said Hester. "Maybe something sweet to finish off lunch. Nothing too big. I'm not getting much exercise on vacation."

"Maybe…" said Iolanthe.

They ordered a pot of tea and decided on crème caramel for dessert, sharing one serving.

"Maybe," Iolanthe said, "I'll just tell any nosy persons to mind their own business."

Hester thought that was a good start. She slid her spoon down the creamy dessert, detaching a thin slice and capturing a little of the caramel sauce.

"If someone asks if I'm Harry Potter's daughter, I'll answer, 'Yes, aren't you?'" said Hester.

Iolanthe nodded.

"I thought Mother was the source of my sense of humor," Iolanthe said. "I was mistaken. If you're still wondering, we're all glad you're here. I've heard nothing to the contrary, I swear."

"That's so nice of you to tell me, Iolanthe," said Hester. "I think my mum kept it quiet for so long because she thought we'd be rejected, and I would get hurt. Growing up with her and Aunt Flora, I was only vaguely aware I didn't have a dad. If I didn't look like James it might never have been an issue. Then, this term, it was obvious something was going on. We had to be connected. I expected to hear we were cousins. Little did I know…"

There was one small chunk of crème caramel left on the plate.

"You can have it," Hester said as she laid her spoon on her saucer.

"No, that's yours," said Iolanthe. "This is your Christmas present. I couldn't possibly."

"Then both of us deferring to the other is a good way to start this off, isn't it?" asked Hester. She pushed her chair back and stood. Iolanthe did some quick math, added a generous tip, signaled to the waiter and laid a handful of sickels on the table. Hester and Iolanthe had gotten to the street and headed for the edge of town when a tall wizard stepped in front of them, blocking their way.

"Ladies," he said, his face an aggressive, threatening leer. "Out for a walk? What's this?"

The man stretched out his arm and gripped Iolanthe's stick. The sleeve of his leather jacket stayed put as he put out his hand, showing an armful of amateur tattoo work.

"Hey!" said Hester. She moved her right hand inside her jacket.

"It's alright," said Iolanthe. "The man just wants to look. It's a stick, for walking. May I please have it back?"

"It's too nice for you," said the wizard. "It's wasted on someone who can't hold onto it. No, I'm keeping it. Get out of here."

He jerked his head in the direction they'd been walking.

"Hester, it will be fine," Iolanthe said. "We need to get home anyway."

"But your…,"

"It's fine," said Iolanthe. "Enjoy your new walking stick, sir."

"Hang on," Iolanthe said as soon as they passed the last building. She wrapped her arm around Hester's waist and Hester did the same to her. Seconds later they were standing on the edge of the green at Potter Manor.

"Wonder who's around?" Iolanthe asked as she looked at her watch. Hester saw Iolanthe slip her fingers under the cuff of her left sleeve and remove her wand.

"Iolanthe, why'd you let him take your stick?" Hester asked.

Iolanthe didn't take her eyes off her watch when she answered, "Because."

"Better get your wand ready," added Iolanthe. "And right about now…"

The sound of a man in great distress came from far off, getting louder as it came closer and closer. Iolanthe looked up and followed the end of the wizard's flight to its abrupt, thumping end on the green. Iolanthe leaned over, her wand pointing at the wizard's nose.

"Oh, you've brought my stick back, how thoughtful of you!" said Iolanthe, reaching.

"Damn you!" shouted the wizard, pulling the cane out of Iolanthe's reach. His wand was visible inside his jacket, on the wrong side for his free hand. Even so, he tried to twist his arm on that side to get to the wand.

"Uh-uh-uh," said Iolanthe, motioning with her wand. "Don't be silly. I'm giving you a chance to be nice."

Hester stood with her own wand in hand, watching Iolanthe tease the wizard, who was still flat on his back. He appeared to be considering his options, came to a decision, let go of the stick and went for the wand.

" _Petrificus totalis!"_ said Iolanthe, freezing the wizard where he lay. She took one step and bent to retrieve her silver-headed stick, after which she seized his wand for good measure.

"I bought this for our trip, because I wanted a port key that I'd be sure to have with me when it was time for us to go," she said. "Mr. Matinee Idol just showed us the wisdom of putting a carefully-chosen charm on one's personal items ahead of time. Well, lessons learned."

"If you're that good at apparation, why did you need the port key?" Hester asked.

"I wasn't sure I could get us to St. Guinefort," said Iolanthe. "The Channel is all around it, and if I really overshot we'd be in France."

"Logical," said Hester. "How'd you know you could get us both back?"

"Didn't," said Iolanthe. She caught Hester's shocked look.

"Well, we've got to stretch ourselves now and then, don't we? Otherwise, how would we know our limits? Now, this wizard was rude to my sister and me," said Iolanthe. "We shall return the favor. All he had to do was put my property down and let it return to me, but it seems he was too thick to let go of it."

She tucked her stick under one arm and pointed her wand at the frozen wizard, raising him up off the ground with a _wingardium leviosa_.

"This way," she said, stepping off across the green toward the woods. The witches hadn't gotten very far in when Iolanthe left the path, walked a few feet, and put her wizard down on some dry grasses. He couldn't move, but his eyes were saying he was furious.

"Through here," she said, waving her wand to open a portal and stepping through. Hester followed and once through, looked around and saw an old-fashioned enclosure comprising a thick, perfectly-laid hedge penetrated by a monstrous iron gate.

Hester took her time looking the gate over, a phenomenon necessitated not only by the craftsmanship and artful design but its size. She thought it looked like the great eighteenth and nineteenth century ceremonial gates one saw here and there in London, or perhaps a larger version of the main gate at Hogwarts.

There were three gates, actually, two halves of the great structure that met in the middle of the opening and a postern set into the half on the left. The Potter and Black crests were set high up into the two sides.

"Wow," said Hester.

While Hester was looking over the gate to the enclosure, Iolanthe had busied herself levitating her wizard and bringing him in through the portal, which she then closed behind them.

"See anything?" Iolanthe asked, keeping her own eyes on her prisoner. One never knew when a spell would wear out, or just get bored with petrifying an inconsequential wizard and go looking for something more interesting to do.

"There is a red pig asleep under an oak tree on the far side," said Hester.

"You're in luck!" said Iolanthe. She turned and gave her wand a wave, opening the gate on the right side. Turning right back to her wizard, she picked him up with another _wingardium leviosa_ , and deposited him, still frozen, inside the pig pen. The red pig slept on. Iolanthe closed the large, right hand gate and reset the chains. She opened the postern and asked Hester to stand there and tend it, in case it became necessary to move quickly.

" _Porcinafors!"_ Iolanthe called out as she cast. The hoodlum from St. Guinefort transformed into a pig, specifically, a fine representative of the Hampshire breed with the distinctive markings of his clan.

"Now, Mr. Pig," said Iolanthe. "You may have heard of Kalypso. We aren't going to commit any violations of magical law or international conventions over your misapprehensions about us, but you will be restricted in your movements until we are satisfied you will not mistreat women ever again. I hope that is clear to your piggy brain. I've never known exactly how much a transformed brain understands and I don't speak pig. Rest assured you will be given all the customary comforts afforded to your kind while you are our guest."

With that Iolanthe reversed the _petrificus totalis_ , gave a generous poke of her walking stick right into a ham and sent her new pig dashing across the compound.

"What do you think?" Iolanthe asked, waving her hand at the hedge, the pigs and the pig pen.

"What is this?" Hester asked. Her voice was difficult to categorize. She was a bit frightened but some genuine curiosity was also coming through, along with a bit of awe.

"Something very difficult happened and we were presented with a situation. There was no getting out of it. A quandary. We were forced to look it in the face and deal with it," said Iolanthe. "A temporary measure, at first, then the thing didn't resolve, so some of us went to work and made this lovely enclosure. What do you think of the hedge? It's the best thing there is for keeping one's pigs out of trouble. No wire, so they don't get cut. They like to rub themselves on wooden planks so those don't last long, then they escape from their pen and get eaten by dragons. A good, well-maintained enchanted hedge is just the thing."

Iolanthe walked through the postern gate and Hester closed it behind her. Iolanthe touched the lock with her wand and listened for the series of clicks, groans and sounds of turning wheels that signaled success.

"Let's get something warm inside us, then we'll have to see about getting you home to Surrey," Iolanthe said. Iolanthe reopened the portal, witches stepped through, and Iolanthe closed it with another wave of her wand.

"We've got to go back to St. Guinefort," said Iolanthe as they walked through the woods. "Have you ever seen anyplace more perfect?"

"Kind of like Hogsmeade, with an ocean," agreed Hester.

"I'm thinking a witches' weekend, in April or May. Before the summer crush. We'll take our mothers. Rose will come. Lissette, too, unless she's on duty or something. Tracey and Zelda," Iolanthe rambled on.

They reached the house and entered through the patio door.

"Periwinkle?" called Iolanthe.

"Yes Miss Iolanthe!" said the elf as soon as she'd materialized.

"Periwinkle, Miss Hester and I would like a cup of something in the library," said Iolanthe. "Coffee, tea, raspberry tea, hot chocolate, hot cider?"

"Hot chocolate, please," answered Hester.

"Raspberry tea for me, please, Periwinkle," Iolanthe summed up.

"Want to call your mother? There's the fireplace, and the floo powder is in the green box."

Hester got through with no trouble, told Hestia where she was and that she'd be home soon.

"I love this house," Hester said. "Did you grow up here?"

"Mostly," said Iolanthe. "Spring and summer we'd be here, but Mother and Father liked to stay in London during the winter. It was easier, closer to work and so on. Plus they both like the way London looks when it's all decorated for Christmas. Mother learned some magical architecture and design from Grandfather Greengrass, so she designed this place based on Greengrass Manor with some ideas of her own. There was a Potter Manor here that was destroyed in the first war and never rebuilt. Father let Mother build whatever she wanted. She calls it her dream house."

"Gosh," Hester said.

"Romantic, isn't it?"

Hester looked around the room, which was as much gallery as library.

"I'll say," she agreed. "Who is the painter?"

"My great-uncle Larry," said Iolanthe. "Lawrence Davis. He's an artist plus he teaches art in America. Someplace in upstate New York."

"I like them," Hester said. "I've never heard of a wizard artist. There had to be some, I suppose."

"Uncle Larry doesn't use magic," Iolanthe said. "Hence, a career, outside of magic, in New York?"

"Oh-h-h," said Hester. "Sorry."

"You didn't know," Iolanthe said. "You'll pick it all up in time."

Hester tipped her cup up and drained the hot chocolate.

"I'd better go," she said, standing and turning for the fireplace. When she got there she turned back to Iolanthe. They looked at one another for a moment before embracing. Hester started to cry.

"What?" asked Iolanthe. "Tell me, please."

"It's silly," said Hester. "Mum and Aunt Flora were always there. They didn't treat me like a child, exactly, but they're very close and I always wanted something like they had. You called me your sister today, and I thought, maybe, someday, we'll get to be close like that. A little."

"Let's take it one step at a time," said Iolanthe, hugging Hester tight. "Get to know one another. I never had a sister, either. Can't make up for fifteen years all at once."

"I know," said Hester with a sigh.

"Oh, and, do you officially have a new pig?" asked Hester.

"Not just yet," said Iolanthe. "If he can be rehabilitated I'll send him back. Maybe that will be just between us? I'll let you know, soon."

The Potters, Tracey and Zelda dined as a family at Potter Manor that evening.

"We're all here," Harry began. Forks ceased spearing. Knives stopped slicing.

"Yes, we are," said Daphne.

"And it is just us," Harry tried once again.

"Two in a row," Daphne observed.

"Two what?" Harry asked, annoyed, but also curious.

"Truisms," said Daphne.

It was a struggle but everyone held back, even Harry.

"Well, my point was, we can talk among ourselves," Harry said. "Candidly. Without concern anyone will carry tales as to subject matter or opinions one or two may hold that are at odds with what the others may think, et cetera."

"You've come to a decision," said Daphne. "We get to hear it first."

"No!" Harry said. Daphne looked him in the eye.

"Well, tentatively, you could say," Harry said. "You all get to tell me what you think."

"Before you go public," said Daphne. "Of course, Lord Harry, very democratic as usual."

Tracey and Zelda looked from face to face.

"Alright, then, what would everyone think if I legally recognized Hester Carrow?" Harry asked. "If that is what the Carrows want, including Hester, of course."

"Harry has engaged a magical family lawyer," Daphne explained. "We got the ayes and nays of continuing as we are at present, and of Harry recognizing Hester. He's just taking a very long, meandering route to his conclusion."

"What happens if you recognize her?" asked James.

"It makes it easier to tidy up my final affairs," said Harry. "Hester would be entitled to a junior share of any unentailed assets. The ministry records office modifies her birth record so she has a father. Some of the effects sound old-fashioned, even archaic. It could be important if she has an offer of marriage. I would negotiate with her intended's parents to protect her interests, along with Hestia."

"What happens if you don't?" asked Iolanthe.

"In theory we maintain the status quo," said Harry.

"Only, we don't think that is actually possible," Daphne said.

Tracey, who had been silent, spoke up.

"You'll have some obligations to the Carrows, won't you?" she asked. "Or at least to Hestia. They've raised Hester up to this point without any support."

"True," said Harry. "I offered to talk about that, any time they were ready, but both of them just put me off. They didn't seem at all pleased that I raised it. I got the feeling they're proud of what they accomplished on their own and were mildly insulted by my presumption. I haven't raised recognition with Hestia yet because of their reaction. That could alienate them completely if badly handled."

"It sounds like you're willing to go ahead," said Tracey.

"Not without everyone around this table telling me you don't have any objections," said Harry. "It will affect everyone's lives and relationships for as far ahead as it's possible to see. All of you are my councilors. I won't even raise it with Hestia if anyone has doubts."

"She's Ravenclaw's seeker," offered Zelda.

"And?" said Tracey.

"Gryffindor will be playing them when we go back," said Zelda. "Once we're out there flying around the pitch…"

"Of course, Zelda, it goes without saying you must show no mercy, ever," said Harry. "That's how the game is played. If she doesn't like it she can hang up her broom."

"I vow to Godric Gryffindor…" Zelda began.

"To bring home the golden snitch or die with honor," Harry finished, half shouting, his left hand suddenly a fist beside his plate.

Zelda and Harry were the only two Gryffindor seekers present so the significance of their shared pre-game oath, handed down from seeker to seeker for generations, was lost on the others.

Zelda and Harry looked around the table, then nodded at one another. Zelda told Harry later that she felt sorry the people she loved would never know the incredible feeling repeating the oath induced in Gryffindor seekers.

"It's a rare experience," Harry told her, "and a precious one. I'm glad we can share it."

"Well, then," Daphne said. "Any further comments, for or against? With or without a self-declaration of insanity?"


	61. Chapter 61

Wheels Within Wheels

Iolanthe

Chapter Sixty-One

Potters Here, Potters There

Once he had the concurrence of his immediate family, Harry started thinking about how to make an offer to recognize Hester without giving the appearance he was either poaching on Hestia's family or patronizing the twins. Harry and Daphne agreed the Carrows had done what they'd set out to do: create a family for themselves while they lived their quiet lives largely out of sight of Britain's magical society. The last thing they wanted to do was disrupt a functional family that had raised a wonderful young witch to the threshold of adulthood.

"Tea in Lady Black's study?" Harry asked. "You do wonders. Something happens when you're in there. It's like magic."

Daphne gave Harry a very skeptical look.

"Your sense of humor is intact," Daphne said. "I always enjoy mentioning that in your case notes. As for tea, that sounds like a good idea. My study isn't the place, in my opinion. Why don't you invite yourself to the Carrows? Everyone knows you're sitting in the midst of all of that Black magic at #12. It can be intimidating. Same for Potter Manor and the Mill. The Leaky Cauldron has certain, may I say resonances, for the three of you? The fact is you don't want to muscle anyone. You're making an offer that you sincerely believe will work to Hestia's daughter's advantage. Let them hear it in their family seat."

"So I should just send them a note asking them to designate a time when I can come calling?" Harry asked.

"Something like that," said Daphne. "Yes, a note. Do it on a nice piece of stationary, leave the crests off, just a nice 'Potter Manor' at the top. Handwritten note, something like, 'I would very much appreciate your advising me of a convenient time when I might call upon you at home. Most sincerely,' blah-blah, humble obedient…"

Harry's note followed Daphne's outline exactly. He sent the note with the big barred owl he liked and counted on. Hestia was apparently in a mood to tend to business because the owl returned with her reply.

"I am free Wednesday. Unless you advise otherwise, I will expect you at 2 p.m."

The note was signed 'HC.'

Harry didn't advise otherwise and floo-called the Carrows' at two minutes before two on Wednesday.

"Please come through, Harry," said Hestia, or possibly Flora. Harry wasn't good at telling them apart if he couldn't see which one was talking.

"Thank-you for seeing me," Harry said when he stumbled out of their fireplace. Flora held her hand out for his cloak, which she took and gave a quick wanding before hanging it on a peg near the front door.

"Sit down, Harry," said Hestia. "I've made tea. If you want something else I'm sure we can accommodate you."

"Tea is fine," Harry said.

Harry, Hestia and Flora sat down in the salon and started sipping tea. Hestia put her cup and saucer down first.

"So," she said, looking Harry in the eye.

"So, I've looked into some things, even talked to a lawyer, and I wanted to see you face to face and ask if you have thought about allowing me to legally recognize Hester?" Harry said. "There could be some advantages later on in life for her, and the time to do it is now, before she attains her majority."

Hestia looked at Flora.

"We have talked about it," Flora said. "I advised Hestia not to take this up with the Potters, from the beginning. You have a huge family. You don't need more. We have Hester. I feared it would come to this."

Harry sat quietly, listening. He knew about loss, and he had his own fears, about meddling in another family's affairs, about mishandling Potter-Carrow relations and alienating Hester, Hestia and Flora.

"Have you discussed what you would like to do?" Harry asked. "I'm pretty sure the population of Hogwarts will be buzzing as soon as winter break is over. Maybe they are already. Lying isn't an option, it seems to me. We'll all just end up looking foolish. Nor is ignoring the fact of Hester's parentage. That becomes more obvious by the day. People will just naturally fill in the blanks, with speculation, if they don't have the truth."

"We know," said Hestia with a sigh. "Flora just had to have her say. We've been very fortunate to get this far without having to do any of this. It's been idyllic. Well, life in a suburban development isn't idyllic but raising Hester here with Flora and no one around trashing Carrows has had it idyllic moments. I would even credit your honesty and transparency, Harry. You don't have anything to gain, I'd estimate, from any of this. As Flora said, you're more than busy enough being a father to your existing brood, and we don't have enough wealth to matter."

"Look," said Harry, "It's an offer, nothing more. Talk to your own solicitor. Compare, advantages versus disadvantages. You'll be invited to family events, one way or the other, unless you ask us not to. Just so you know, I'm not going to lie about Hester, if anyone asks. Well, make that if anyone who I deem needs to know asks. If I acknowledge her, just being honest, it's not a huge step to legal recognition. There's no pressure, no deadlines. All of you discuss it and let me know. I won't think ill of you if you want to do what you've been doing. No one can argue with your results. She's a remarkable young witch."

After Harry had left and the twins were sure they were alone they mutually agreed he'd just reminded them why they'd been so ready to go upstairs with him at the Leaky Cauldron all those years ago.

"It's all coming back," said Hestia.

"Oh, yeah," said Flora.

"We weren't that drunk," Hestia went on. "Or I wasn't anyway."

"Neither was I," said Flora, "Not the whole three days, certainly. Either one of us could have proposed, right then and there. Offered him the package deal. What did we have to lose?"

"She deserves to know her family," Hestia said. "We had her to ourselves for fifteen years. She told me Iolanthe used 'sister' when they went to lunch. It meant a lot to her."

"She could do a good deal worse," said Flora. "I look at Iolanthe and see every kind of magic—old, deep, mysterious. It doesn't want anyone trifling with her. Hester has that same aura, a kind of glow. It might be a good idea to be in alliance with Harry and Daphne and all their minions. Obscurity may not always be our most effective strategy."

"Something to sleep on," said Hestia. "Let's not share with Hester right away. I want to let it roll around in my head for a day or two, to think it through."

Hestia let it roll around until the final day of winter break. Hester was communing with textbooks and parchment when Hestia finished cleaning up from breakfast. She caught Flora's eye and flicked her own towards the front door.

"Got to get some air, love, are you staying?" Hestia asked Hester.

"I'm fine, Mum," said Hester.

Once outside, Flora turned to Hestia and asked, "Walk? Long or short?"

"A block or two, I think," said Hestia. "Unless you drag it out."

They waited until they reached the cross street before they got down to business.

"I'm inclined to take Harry up on his offer, if that is what Hester wants," Hestia began. "Hester knows, so the surprise is past. She's doing fine, now that we've been honest with her. Daphne didn't curse any of us."

Flora had to laugh at that.

"Yes, we don't want to cross Daphne, that's for sure," said Flora. "She doesn't appear to demand complete surrender from the people nearby. That was a bit surprising, to me. I don't know about you."

"I don't suppose she needs to," Hestia said. "We thought she was an introverted grind. Turns out she just needed the right surroundings. Well, she is the pureblood dame of two noble houses and the heir to one more on her own account."

"And a healer," Flora added. "And she's been very gracious to us."

"Hasn't she?" Hestia asked. "That was completely unexpected. Didn't you think we'd have to spend at least a little time in the dungeon under the townhouse?"

Flora shuddered enough that Hestia saw it.

"You haven't raised any objections," said Hestia, "So I'll take it you are fine with me informing Hester. She goes back tomorrow. I can advise her to think about it until the Easter break, then she can let us know. Between now and then we'll get some legal advice."

"I'm going to miss being on our own," Flora said. "Harry Potter will become a consideration in everything now, won't he?"

"One more thing we didn't think through," Hestia conceded. "Still, that's not the worst unforeseen consequence ever."

Flora and Hestia strolled along in silence as they worked their way back to their house. The winter light was shading to darker and darker grays as they walked, the air still and cold.

"We're back!" Hestia called as they closed and wanded the front door. Hester had taken a thick textbook to the salon and was stretched out on the sofa.

"In here," she said, raising a hand, still focused on her reading.

Flora and Hestia came in and sat down. Hester looked at them, checked the page number and closed her book.

"The Saga of Hester Carrow," she said. "Please continue."

"Very well," said Hestia, "Your father called on us a few days ago. He offered to recognize you, legally. He left it entirely up to the three of us, whether we wanted to do it or not, and assured us that he will accommodate our wishes. He also said we can decide how far we want to go beyond recognition, if you do decide to take him up on it."

Hester's face turned pale, even taking on a waxy look.

"Excuse me," she said, before dashing up the stairs. The sounds of a young person losing a meal drifted back down, followed by the flush of a commode, and running water. Hester came back to the salon with a hand towel, still dabbing at her face.

"Better," she said, sitting down again.

"Good," said Hestia. "Do you want to talk?"

"After all this time…" Hester tried before the towel went back to her face.

"It's a lot to have dumped on you, we know," said Flora. "We feel the same way."

"No…you don't," Hester said. "You don't know how I feel, because you can't. You always had each other. I grew up thinking I didn't have a dad, and that was just the way it was. When I got old enough and learned how babies get started I had to assume Mum had an accident and I was the result. I was an error in calculation. Still, I was happy to be here. I reminded myself over and over that my mum and aunt loved me and raised me, kept me fed and clothed and sent me to school. I even felt like I was luckier than the kids I'd see on television, starving and drowning in the Med when the boat capsizes. Then it turned out I had a father all along. I'd been going to school with his children, my brother and sister! You don't know how I feel. Nor do I. I'm a mess. Ohhh…"

Hester went off into inarticulate sounds while Flora and Hestia looked at her, then back at one another, then back at her. They did what was probably the wisest thing they could have done, which was to stay where they were and hold their tongues. Hester eventually got to a place where she could speak again and came out from behind her towel.

"I'm sorry, Mum," she began. "I'm sorry, Aunt Flora. I love you both, don't ever think I don't. I just can't talk about this right now."

Hester left the room with her book and went upstairs. The door to her bedroom closed, but it wasn't slammed.

Hester was ready to talk at breakfast the following morning.

"Do I have to change my name?" she asked, dispensing with any preparatory remarks.

"Not according to Harry," said Hestia. "All of our lives have already changed, of course. I expect they will change some more."

"Can I still live here?" Hester asked.

"Of course," Hestia said. "Harry is giving you an option. There are some things that come with it automatically. If Harry and I swear to your paternity the birth record is amended and his name added. I'm still your mother and he's still married to Daphne. The three of us are still the same and his household is as well. You'll be a Potter and a Carrow."

"And a Black," added Flora.

"A Black? How?" asked Hester.

"The Blacks' male line ended with Sirius, who made Harry his heir," said Flora. "Harry has a Black grandmother or great-grandmother, I'm not sure which. It's close enough, though. He's accepted by the cousins, it seems."

"How do you know all this?" Hester asked.

"I read the Daily Prophet," Flora shrugged.

"They make half of that stuff up!" Hester protested. "Except the quidditch news."

"Anyway, Hester, leaving that aside," Hestia said, trying to regain control of the conversation, "You have a choice. Yes or no. We'll answer all your questions, or get the answers. Think about it until break and let us know then."

"No need," said Hester. "Of course I'll say yes. We can't pass this up. I can guess how vulnerable you must have felt, cut off from your family, blending into a muggle neighborhood. It was the war, wasn't it? I haven't heard the whole story, but there have been people who went like this when we were introduced."

Hester mimed a person backing away from something repellent.

"This branch of the Carrows will be allied with Harry Potter if he recognizes me, won't we?" Hester asked. "Harry's married to Daphne Greengrass. Her mother has a reputation. Old magic. Runes. No one will come looking for you. And if they do…"

Hester's face changed. Flora and Hestia saw young Harry's war face as if it were superimposed on Hester's. It was a good look for a witch, a seeker, and a daughter of Harry Potter.

"Well, then," said Hestia. "If you're sure, we can tell the Potters we are leaning. I still want to talk to a lawyer. Someone we find on our own. It's always good to get an independent perspective. Harry would have been looking out for his own family's interests, which is only natural. Commendable, really."

Flora nodded in agreement.

"Harry told us he will tell the truth, if asked. You may be asked as well. You have nothing to hide, okay?"

Hester nodded, then hugged Hestia and Flora, in turn.

"Some final things," she said, pointing toward the second floor before running upstairs.

The Potters stood on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters with Tracey, Zelda and Blaise, enjoying the passing scrum and greeting friends and acquaintances as they walked by with their students. Evans and Davis were at Greengrass Manor under the supervision of Kendra and Trix.

"Oh!" said Tracey, dipping her hand into her bag. "Almost forgot."

She pulled out a crimson 'GO, ZELDA, GO!' button and reached for Blaise' lapel.

"You have the honor, as the father of our latest quidditch superstar…" Tracey said.

Harry just stared as Blaise stood there and took it.

"Never thought I'd see the day…" Harry muttered, accepting his own button before pinning it to his cloak. He winked at Zelda, who winked back.

Daphne upped the stakes when she took her button from Tracey, pulling Zelda into a bear hug finished off with a smacking kiss to her cheek.

"Merlin, you've grown over break!" Daphne exclaimed. "You're as tall as me!"

Daphne pinned her button to her cloak, so Iolanthe really didn't have much choice. She accepted the button from Tracey, pinning it to her tam before she jammed it back on her head.

"There," she said to Zelda.

"Hullo, Daphne, hullo, Harry," said someone, and the group turned to see Hestia, Flora and Hester walking up.

"Everyone," Harry said.

Flora and Hestia exchanged greetings with Tracey and Blaise. Iolanthe reached out and took Hester's hand, hanging on for a few beats. Hester looked at the buttons, then at Zelda.

"Do I get one?" she asked.

"Do you want one?" asked Zelda, clearly surprised.

Hester shrugged.

"Might as well," she said. "It's going to be a collector's item someday. Could be worth some money."

"You're a very smart witch," said Zelda. She held her hand out to Tracey, who gave her a button that Zelda handed on to Hester. "If you wear it on game day I expect the collectors will pay even more when you get ready to sell it."

"If I did that," said Hester, "There wouldn't be a collector around who could afford it."

Hermione arrived with Hugo and Rose. Rose looked around the platform, then she looked at Iolanthe. Iolanthe knew what she was looking for and shook her head.

"Not yet," she added. Rose blew her breath out through her pursed lips.

"Probably scrivening a footnote," said Iolanthe, concluding with, "The little scrivener."

"Speaking of which," said Rose as Scorpius and Draco walked up to the group.

"Rose," said Scorpius.

"Scorpius," returned Rose, nodding.

A few days earlier, Rose had called on the Malfoys at Malfoy Manor. Lucius was distant, as always. Rose and Narcissa had shared a pot of tea and a few laughs. When they'd completed their social duties Rose and Scorpius went to the salon to exchange gifts by the tree. Everyone left them alone, so they hugged after one gift, then, after the next one, Rose kissed Scorpius on the cheek before nuzzling his neck just a little. Scorpius had one last gift for Rose, a very special one. Rose removed the wrapping and found a small velvet box, inside of which was a mechanical pencil not quite six inches long. Rose recognized the model, a magical one often sold along with tasteful little journals made for witches to tuck inside robes or a handbag.

"It was Mum's," said Scorpius.

That was it. Rose laid her hands flat on Scorpius' cheeks and closed in. Neither one of them knew a lot about kissing, at least not the kind lovers indulge in, but they closed their eyes, Rose took her time and they got started. They didn't overdo it. They were disciplined scholars, after all. Still, it lasted long enough, and was pleasant enough, they both smiled when they'd stopped and pulled away.

Time got short on the platform and the adults began hugging and shaking hands, giving out good luck wishes and observations that spring break was just over two months distant. Hugo and James fell in next to Hester.

"Playing Gryffindor next week," Hugo noted as they crossed the platform.

"Tell me about it," said Hester. That was news to James, who usually had his head immersed in plants, planting, thinning, transplanting, fertilizing, harvesting and selling plants, or something else to do with them like greenhouse design. He decided to stay well clear of quidditch and remain neutral. Otherwise his life would become needlessly complicated.

"Of course it's complicated," Iolanthe said to Rose, two hours later, as they stood in the corridor of the Hogwarts Express. Their backs to the cabins, they gripped the handrail and chatted as they watched northern England rolling past. Rose had completed her prefect duties and Iolanthe had made one circuit of the train, meeting and greeting and radiating good cheer. Each one kept an eye on the comings and goings, breaking off and restarting the conversation as interlopers passed through. Iolanthe continued with her briefing on the Carrow news.

"The parental generation couldn't really count on there being a world from one day to the next, so they didn't get a lot of practice at making long-term plans," Iolanthe went on. "Perfectly understandable. They have my most sincere sympathy."

"Of course, Daphne Greengrass…" Rose submitted.

"Well, we have to allow for the anomalies," Iolanthe said, "Such as Hermione Granger, to cite another outlier."

"Then there's Harry Potter and…which Carrow?" asked Rose.

"Both of them, but Hestia is Hester's mother," said Iolanthe. "Such a story for the ages. I was always jealous of Hugo, I suppose you know. Insanely. It seemed so unfair to me."

"Really? Why?" asked Rose, genuinely surprised.

"He had a sister," said Iolanthe. She felt her eyes get watery and went for her handkerchief.

"Oh, Iolanthe, that is the sweetest thing," said Rose. "I don't have one either. I've always had you, though."

"And you always will," said Iolanthe. "Oh, you've been great, and so has Zelda. I don't know if it's even possible to do better. Probably not, truth be told. It's just the symbolic value, isn't it? 'Hi, I'm pleased to meet you. This is my sister…"

Iolanthe laid her arm lightly on Rose's waist. She dropped her voice to make extra-special certain she wouldn't be overheard.

"When are you going to tell me?" she asked.

"What?" said Rose, her voice full of suspicion.

"About…" Iolanthe said. "Something is different. Are you going to tell me?"

"Iolanthe, I am surprised at you," huffed Rose, her own voice barely audible. She looked both ways to make sure they were alone, then leaned her head close to Iolanthe's.

"We were giving each other our presents and I thanked him," she said. "With a kiss. On his lips. Merlin, Iolanthe, it felt so good. Your cousin is a gentleman, I'll say that. He didn't get all grabby or anything. We just kissed, my lips on his, his lips on mine. So sweet."

"And then he told you he loves you?" asked Iolanthe.

"NO!" said Rose. "We don't have room in our lives for that right now."

"Well, okay, then," said Iolanthe. "I was just curious."

"My mind used to drift to whatever we were working on that I really liked, you know?" Rose said. "In idle moments. I'd run through spells, long lists, every one we'd learned. I just naturally assumed that was what smart witches' minds did, for fun. The last few days I've been thinking about that kiss."

"So, what you're really saying is, 'SAVE ME IOLANTHE, I'M FALLING FOR YOUR COUSIN HE'S SO HOT!" teased Iolanthe.

'Shut UP," said Rose in a hoarse whisper, "Or I swear I'm never telling you anything again as long as I live!"

That comment ended the serious business portion of the meeting.

"Five months," said Rose.

"Yep," said Iolanthe. "A little less, really, and sixth year is done. Still thinking law?"

"You bet," said Rose. "No one in the family does it so I wouldn't be going over plowed ground. I might even make a little money, so I could go shopping for a nice, intelligent scrivener drone to make me happy. You?"

"Healing is pretty compelling," Iolanthe said. "Of course, Mother has gone ahead in our case, but I get to have these wonderful conversations with her about things she's encountered, symptoms, diagnoses and so on. Shop talk. She focuses on mental maladies, it's true, but she still went through the course everyone goes through before they specialize. I expect to stay with it."

"Excellent," said Rose.

When they got to Hogsmeade, Iolanthe sent Rose to look for a carriage with three vacant seats while she went to see if she could locate Hester.

"Come on up here," she said when she found her. "We can sit together."

Hester gave her a look before picking up her bag and coming along.

"What?" asked Iolanthe.

"Not sure," said Hester. "Maybe I was wondering what your intentions were."

"Mmm…" said Iolanthe. "I see your point. How about no intentions at all? Other than I find you to be an agreeable companion and would like you to occupy a seat near me? Because if your bum is right there, that is one less place in the carriage for some tedious person I don't care to ride with."

"That I can understand," said Hester.

They found Rose standing guard at the tail of a carriage and took the last two seats.

"That worked out," said Rose.

"Amazing, isn't it?" asked Iolanthe. "Like some kind of magical imperative is at work. Glad it isn't too cold tonight."

A custom had taken root over the Headmistress' tenure that on the first evening back after the mid-winter break the far ends of the tables in the Great Hall were open seating. Students mixed freely regardless of houses, eating with sweethearts, relatives or in subject matter affinity groups, the latter sometimes joined by their professors. Professor McGonagall had encouraged this slight dissolution of the encrusted house system as she viewed excessive tribalism to have been an aggravating factor in the near-destruction of Hogwarts during the late war.

Rose and Scorpius sat at the furthest end of the Slytherin table, joined almost immediately by Iolanthe, who waved James and Moira over. Hester seemed to be headed toward Ravenclaw until Hugo walked up and tilted his head at the group. Zelda arrived last, took her time surveying the little gathering, gave a great stage sigh and sat down.

The food contributed to the informal atmosphere. The most fundamental component was a fresh baguette, about five inches long, already split for the convenience of sandwich makers. Students had their choice of hamburger patties, hand-formed to match the baguettes, several cheeses, great bowls of salad greens, fresh tomatoes from the herbology greenhouses, pickles, relishes, sliced onions both raw and grilled. French fries were in unlimited supply as were crunchy carrot spears. One Anglo-German protested the absence of 'vursts' but few took him seriously.

Iolanthe looked toward the head of the table and noticed Bridget O'Brien and Cordelia MacMillan sitting across from one another. After watching for a bit she concluded they weren't any closer to establishing rapport than they'd been at their sorting. Iolanthe excused herself and walked to the other end of the Slytherin table.

"Witches," Iolanthe began.

"Iolanthe," they both said. They appeared to be grateful for the distraction.

"You don't have to congregate in Slytherin tonight, you know," said Iolanthe. "Unless, of course, you just want to. There are some people down here I'd like you to meet. You may know some already, but I doubt you know them all."

Bridget and Cordelia popped out of their seats.

"Sure!" said Bridget, Cordelia reserving comment.

Iolanthe walked back to the foot of the long table, charges in tow behind her.

"Everyone," she said, "Two fine young Slytherin witches here, strong candidates for future leadership positions."

Iolanthe identified the two for her tablemates, noting their hometowns, before working her way through her group. Everyone seemed to get extra quiet when Iolanthe got to Hester, but Iolanthe rolled on.

"This is my sister, Hester Carrow, who's a fourth year Ravenclaw, same as Hugo…"

That was it. By the next day everyone who paid attention knew Hester, James and Iolanthe were siblings, just as they'd suspected.

Hester sent a short letter to Surrey by owl the following Friday.

"Dear Mum and Aunt Flora," it began.

"Everything is back to normal at Hogwarts following break. We play Gryffindor tomorrow. I've been avoiding Zelda Davis since our back-to-school dinner on Sunday evening. I don't think she wants to see me either. Just as well.

Iolanthe did the most remarkable thing Sunday. I was in a mixed group at the end of the Slytherin table. Iolanthe brought two second-year Slytherins down. They only had two witches last year. Odd. They aren't at all alike but they only have each other in-house. When they sat down with us Iolanthe did introductions and when she got to me she just said 'This is my sister, Hester Carrow' like it was the most normal thing. The two Slytherins just smiled and said 'So happy to meet you.' So, I'm Iolanthe Potter's sister now, and it's not a big deal at all.

My partner and I study in an empty classroom because I'm pretty sure Zelda and Moira Turley are together in the section behind Madame Pince. After the game on Saturday we won't play again until February. You really should come up for those games, if you can. They ought to be good. Our final standings will be determined by the Ravenclaw/Gryffindor results.

Love, love, love,

Hester"

Hestia and Flora took the floo to the Three Broomsticks on Saturday. They arrived early because they guessed, correctly, that January or no January, the stands would be packed for the match. Word had been circulating among quidditch fandom that the two best seekers in years were fourth-year witches playing for Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. The showdown had been delayed until January due to scheduling as both teams worked their way through the other houses before finally meeting on the pitch.

Ravenclaw and Gryffindor were well-matched at the chaser and beater positions. Gryffindor had an edge, if one went by statistics, at keeper. Figures for keepers could be reversed in the time it takes to play one match, of course, if an opponent exploits a flaw in a keeper's game and the keeper's teammates can't disrupt the successful attacks.

The scoring on Saturday was great fun to watch, each team running up thirty or forty point leads only to slide back, get behind, then claw back again. The snitch proved elusive, though, and the grinding attacks and defenses began to wear on the players. The weather didn't help. It was sunny, cold and dry. Athletes often dehydrate in such conditions before they detect any problems. Both teams were using warming charms as well, which have their own drying characteristics. By the second hour the beaters and chasers were getting sloppy, the keepers were getting cold, and the seekers were wondering where in Merlin's name the snitch was hiding.

Zelda was flying clockwise circles around the scrum, convinced the snitch had to be going to ground in the thickest clusters of chasers. Hester stayed close but flew at a higher altitude to give her a little wider field to study. Zelda was actually closer when the snitch made its break. She should have been able to chase it down and get the win for Gryffindor. In fact she was stretched out, almost one with her Firebolt, flying one-handed and about to close the gap when the snitch stopped and reversed direction. Before Zelda could react she hit the snitch with her forehead, opening up a small gash and instantly making her woozy.

Hester kept her eye on the snitch, which had caromed off Zelda's head at an angle, but just catchable, if Hester got lucky. Holding onto the broom with her right hand, Hester grabbed the broomstick with the back of her right knee a little further down and lunged, fully extending her body to the left to make a desperate grab. The snitch smashed into Hester's left palm, nearly spinning her around and right off her broom. As it was, she held on to the snitch, stalled, lost control and began a spiraling descent.

The stadium took a collective gasp as Zelda, her face covered in blood, lay against her broomstick and tried to navigate her way out of traffic and down to the pitch. At the same time, Hester was trying to get her center of gravity aligned with the broom so she could regain control before the rapidly-closing ground smashed her and her broom to bits.

Madame Pomfrey's station for quidditch matches was just off the pitch on a little wooden seat next to the Slytherin grandstand. Sixth and seventh year students from the healing curriculum sat in similar positions around the stands. Zelda managed to fly down without assistance, landing nearly blind but fairly close to Madame Pomfrey, who was still watching Hester trying to re-establish control of her broom.

"Potter!" Madam Pomfrey shouted. "Wand that blood so she can see. Let it bleed a little before we try to stop it. I may be busy with Carrow!"

Iolanthe trotted out across the pitch to Zelda and took hold of her right arm, just above the elbow. She waved her wand across Zelda's face, getting her vision back and exposing the short but deep gash in the skin of Zelda's forehead.

"Not bad," Iolanthe said. "A good clean-up and dittany. Good as new by next weekend. You're not playing anyway, are you?"

Iolanthe had no idea what the Gryffindor schedule looked like, she was just making conversation in an effort to assess Zelda's awareness.

"Here we go, sit down and let me take a look," Iolanthe said, easing Zelda down on Madame Pomfrey's seat.

She waved her wand again and got more of the blood cleaned up.

"How's it look?" Zelda asked.

"Not life-threatening," said Iolanthe. "A good rap to the forehead like that will almost always get you a cut. The skin is so thin and there is nothing to take up the shock. In your case, it was snitch, skin, bone. Skin's going to lose, every time. How do you feel?"

"Not good," said Zelda. "I don't feel wobbly anymore. There is a kind of throbbing."

"That's to be expected," said Iolanthe. "I don't think you have anything to worry about, long-term. We'll clean you up some more when we get you to the infirmary, look you over top to bottom, probably put a little dittany on that wound, keep you warm and comfortable and with luck you'll be back in class early next week."

Zelda looked over Iolanthe's shoulder and gestured with her chin. Iolanthe turned around to see Daphne standing quietly behind her.

"Care to consult, Healer Daphne?" asked Iolanthe. Daphne's eyes looked sparkly.

"Nothing to add, Apprentice Healer Iolanthe," Daphne said. "Will your patient walk or will she be requiring transport?"

"Ready to try standing?" Iolanthe asked. "Take your time."

Zelda arranged her feet in front of herself, got her weight centered and stood up. Iolanthe held onto her upper arm as she had before.

"Zelda!"

Tracey pushed her way through the crowd, Harry right behind her.

"Everyone! Out!"

The command voice of Madame Pomfrey announced her return, along with Hester. Harry didn't move, nor did Tracey. Flora and Hestia had followed Madame Pomfrey and Hester across the pitch.

"What do you have, Potter?"

"Clean incision, through the skin into the subcutaneous tissue, probably caused by the snitch striking my patient in the forehead," Iolanthe said. "There was quite a bit of bleeding typical for a head wound. Balance has returned and the patient can stand unaided."

"Pupils? It's a head injury, remember," Madame Pomfrey reminded her.

"Hadn't gotten that far, Madame," said Iolanthe. "Do you wish to do a field assessment or get the injured to the hospital wing?"

Madame Pomfrey turned her attention back to Hester.

"How's the back?" she asked.

Hester grimaced. She moved a bit trying to find some way to hold herself to alleviate the pain.

"Hurts," was all she said.

The other healing students had made their way to the Slytherin station.

"Two stretchers, please, and plenty of bearers," said Madame Pomfrey. "We will take it slow, with no bouncing. Anyone who doesn't trust their wand work can find something else to do. Ready, witches?"

The quidditch teams took charge of the two brooms, which, by some miracle, had not been damaged at all. Two stretchers appeared and the healers got in place and waited for their patients to arrange themselves. Iolanthe no longer had a job, so she put her wand away.

"See you upstairs," she called out to no one in particular, although the sentiment worked for Hester, Zelda, her colleagues, even Madame Pomfrey.

"Coming?" Iolanthe asked Daphne.

"Of course," said Tracey. "Don't even think you can keep me…"

"I have to stay with my professor," Iolanthe said to Daphne, ignoring Tracey's intervention. "I'm sure you'll be a big help."

She gave the Carrows, Tracey and Harry a look.

"I'll see if I can get immediate family admitted."

Iolanthe stepped off behind the procession and headed to the castle.

"Write it up," said Madame Pomfrey as Iolanthe stood at Zelda's bedside. "Just the way you told me down there. When you're done you can do pupillary response again, and chart it. Don't leave out the time. Healer Daphne? Over here?"

Daphne joined Madame Pomfrey at Hester's bedside.

"Ladies," said Madame Pomfrey, addressing Hester, Hestia and Flora as a collective. "Hester appears to have incurred some painful muscle strain in her posterior thoracic and/or lumbar region. In other words, she's wrenched her back. This usually doesn't require anything but time to cure, although something for the pain is indicated for a few days, along with massage. We can do all of that here. If you want to go to St. Mungo's, that can be arranged. It's up to you. If Miss Carrow is here she can return to class as soon as she feels up to it. St. Mungo's might be a little more, bureaucratic, would you say, Healer Daphne?"

"Could be, I suppose," said Daphne. "Perhaps Mum and Auntie could let us pull these curtains so Madame Pomfrey and I can evaluate a little more?"

Madame Pomfrey stepped out of the enclosure to find the Headmistress had arrived.

"Both doing fine, injuries painful but unlikely to cause anything permanent, at least physically," said Madame Pomfrey. "Perhaps Winky could bring tea for these family members, and yourself, to my office? We'll just need a few minutes."

Taking it as read that all would be carried out as she'd just described, Madame Pomfrey stepped back inside the enclosure to Hester's bedside.

Hester was lying on her left side, Daphne behind her, probing her back muscles.

"Here? Uh-huh, thought so. How about here?" Daphne went over Hester's back identifying the areas that were pain free and those that hurt.

"Lower left, lower right, stops at the lumbar area," Daphne said. "No radiating down arms or legs. Head and neck are pain-free."

Madame Pomfrey nodded as she stood at the head of the bed looking down at Hester.

"You wrenched your back, and you did a darn good job of it," she said. "We'll get you something for pain. Then I'm going to ask Healer Daphne to give you a rub with a nice herbal compound. I need to keep an eye on your rival seeker. Is that okay with you?"

Madame Pomfrey didn't wait for an answer, disappeared and was soon back with a glass of red liquid and a bottle of herbal liniment. She put the glass down on the bedside table.

"A good splash and gentle rubs, up and down, up and down," she said, indicating the bottle.

"I remember," said Daphne.

"I know you do," said Madame Pomfrey. "Relax, Miss Carrow, you've got the best healer Hogwarts ever produced working on you."

"First you'll roll toward me and drink the red stuff. Then I'll need to lay my hands right on your back, so you'll feel me under your shirt," Daphne said. "I'll ask you about pain now and then, but if I hit a place that gets your attention, tell me right away. It could be important."

"Miss Davis," said Madame Pomfrey, back with Zelda. "Do you remember what happened?"

"I remember I was closing on the snitch, then a white flash when it hit me in the forehead," said Zelda. "After that I was just trying to get down. Couldn't see for the blood."

Madame Pomfrey was going over Zelda with her wand.

"You might not think so right now," said Madame Pomfrey, "but you were very lucky. You didn't take the snitch in an eye, for one thing. Plus you got a fine assessment from this apprentice healer here. Well done, Potter Junior. You got everything right. Remember with head injuries to check the pupils and look for fluid in their ears and nostrils."

"Yes, Madame Pomfrey," said Iolanthe. "May I ask how Hester is?"

"The only thing manifesting at the moment is serious muscle strain in her back," Madame Pomfrey said. "She was doing all kinds of contortions going for that snitch, plus cold muscles and the unnatural position. Hard to see how she would not be feeling it.

"Okay, Miss Davis, let's try sitting up," Madame Pomfrey went on.

After having Zelda walk the length of the ward, stand on one foot, then the other, Madame Pomfrey pronounced her done with evaluation and treatment, and ready to start twenty-four hours in and around her bed under observation. With that she joined the parents and the headmistress in her office and advised Tracey and Harry that they could go visit with Zelda.

Hester was a little more complicated, but Madame Pomfrey thought she should respond to bed rest, something for pain, and regular applications of the herbal liniment. She invited Hestia and Flora to join her at Hester's bedside.

Daphne was just finishing up, drying her hands on a towel that hung on the rack next to the bed.

"Better?" she asked.

"Lots!" said Hester. "What did you do?"

"It's a potion," said Daphne. "Herbs, something that has been around forever. Rubbed on the skin, not too light, not too hard, not too slow, not too fast, it really does the trick. Remember you're taking something for pain as well, so I can't claim all the credit."

She pulled Hester's shirt down, being careful to keep it free of wrinkles, before helping her to ease onto her back.

"Your patient," Daphne said to Hestia and Flora.

The twins tried a few histrionics but they were wasted on Hester. She'd won for Ravenclaw by keeping her mind on the game and reacting to the snitch doing a bank shot off Zelda's forehead. It wasn't a conventional win, by any means, but the reflexes and extraordinary athleticism needed to adapt to the situation and get herself and her broom down to the ground intact were the components of legend.

Daphne went looking for Madame Pomfrey and found her in a circle of her students. Madame was thanking everyone for their quick response and cooperative work in getting their patients back to the infirmary. She finished by asking everyone to write up a short case summary as an assignment for Monday.

Harry left Zelda to Tracey and stepped over to Hester's bedside.

"Harry," said Hestia, with a nod. Flora didn't say anything.

"Mr. Potter," said Hester in acknowledgment. "Thank-you for coming."

"You won for Ravenclaw," Harry said. "That was quite a move you put on the snitch."

"Oh," Hester said. "Thanks. Is that my quidditch robe?"

She pointed to a pile of blue on a nearby chair.

"I need it."

Flora bundled up the robe and brought it over. Hester folded the robe back near the top and fiddled with something, which turned out to be a GO ZELDA GO button.

"Zelda?" Hester called out through the curtains.

"What?" came the reply.

"Sending something over," said Hester. She handed the pin to Flora. "Give this to her?"

There was some muttering around the other bed.

"This is…what?"

"Game-worn pin from today. I had it inside my robe. Something for your trophy case," Hester called through the curtains.

"We play you again next month, you know," said Zelda.

"I'll be there," said Hester.


	62. Chapter 62

Wheels Within Wheels

Iolanthe

Chapter Sixty-Two

Rebounds—Yes, Rebounds, Plural

Zelda Davis and Hester Carrow made the sports page of the Daily Prophet the next day, capturing three columns plus insets of their individual photos. There weren't any usable photos from the game, or the carnage set off by Zelda's collision with the snitch, but the Prophet used the pre-season publicity shots showing them in their team robes, broomsticks in hand.

Madame Pomfrey made them spend the night in the hospital wing, but they had plenty of company. Both teams insisted they be allowed to visit, the headmistress personally delivered chocolate, and Moira came to see both of them, James in tow. James proposed letting them get their rest so they could get out as soon as possible but Moira gave him a look, along with one word: "James!"

"Iolanthe," said Moira as they got to Zelda's bedside. Iolanthe was sitting in the uncomfortable straight chair that inevitably accompanies hospital beds in both the magical and mundane worlds.

Iolanthe, who was holding Zelda's hand and making all kinds of promises about recovery that she had no way of knowing she could keep, turned and replied, "Moira. And look who you've got with you."

"He listens to reason," Moira observed.

"He does?" asked Iolanthe. "And this began…"

"Hi, Zelda," said James. "Moira thought a visit from us would cheer you up."

"Do I look like I need cheering up?" asked Zelda. She sported a bandage in the middle of her forehead, a two inch square of gauze with dittany showing on the skin around the edges, and two purplish circles starting at her nose and following her orbits about halfway around her eyes.

"You look good, considering," said James, getting a fairly convincing smile in return.

"Patient care acceptable? I'll submit your complaint, if you have any."

James looked at Iolanthe, who sat there without comment or response of any kind.

"Can I bring you anything? A book, or books? If you don't get out by Monday someone will have to get your assignments," said Moira.

"Looks like we'll be out, but thanks anyway," said Zelda.

James excused himself and walked over to Hester's bed.

"How are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm going to be stiff tomorrow," said Hester.

"Can we bring you anything?"

Hester declined. She was pretty sure she'd be getting released on Sunday as well. Moira joined James as he stood talking to Hester.

"That was quite a play," she said.

"Thanks," Hester said, smiling.

"My study partner was unable to see it, but from what she has heard, she speculates it will be talked about for years," Moira whispered, leaning over the bed.

Hester got Moira's meaning and made a zipping motion across her lips.

"James?" asked Moira.

"I'm ready," James said. "We'll let them rest."

Zelda and Hester really were much better after a quiet night on the ward. They took their breakfasts in the infirmary and passed the time sitting at a table in their pajamas playing Hangman as they waited for noon, when Madame Pomfrey indicated observation would be over and they could go.

"You had it, if you'd gotten your hand up," said Hester.

"Yep," said Zelda. "S?"

There were two, and Hester filled in the blanks, then pushed the paper back to Zelda.

"Do you hate me?" Hester asked.

"Of course not," said Zelda. "You're a great seeker. You're going to get better. If we both get contracts, we'll be seeing each other a lot, for years and years, maybe. Play hard. Your hardest. Anything goes except deliberately inflicting injury."

"Okay," said Hester. "That's what I thought, too, but I didn't know how you felt."

"We're not going to be going out on the town a lot together," said Zelda. "Not while we're both playing. T?"

"Probably not," said Hester. There was one 'T.'

Madame Pomfrey did release them both at eleven, giving them time to change before leaving the infirmary for lunch. It was Sunday so they wore their Hogwarts skirts, white shirts and their house ties and sweaters. Neither had any reason to divert on the way to the Great Hall so they walked in together. Before they split off to their respective house tables they were spotted, engulfed in deafening applause and awarded a standing ovation. Even the staff table joined in.

After their conversation over the game of Hangman, Zelda and Hester both assumed they would be playing quidditch after Hogwarts. That led to a reflexive attempt to check with the other when a practice opportunity presented itself. They got invitations to the Burrow every month or two, to play pickup quidditch with Harry and the Weasleys. If Ginny was at Potter Manor there would probably be an invitation to the Carrows to bring Hester and come for lunch on the patio. This naturally included watching Harry, Ginny, Hester and Zelda turning the green into a pitch for three or four hours. When the stars aligned properly the old boys and girls would be there in sufficient numbers to field two complete teams. On those days Periwinkle and Melon would be joined by Winky, Trix and Kreacher, and the elves would mount a serious picnic buffet under a marquee on the lawn. Woodlanders would get a share of the food and beverages and sit just inside the edge of the woods, watching, eating and making outrageous bets on every kind of quidditch outcome.

Hester and Zelda were both relieved when the excitement died down at Hogwarts. They were thinking like professional quidditch players and understood that fandom loved to see them put on a show, but that wasn't what made winning seasons or won championships.

Madame Pomfrey took her time with follow-up exams, using their visits for practical chats with her students, talking about signs, symptoms and delayed effects. She went over and over examination techniques, discussing the anatomy of the brain, the musculature of the back, potential for spinal involvement and related phenomena. Zelda and Hester were good sports throughout, bending, stretching and describing symptoms as requested.

As April waned and May approached, Iolanthe, Rose and Scorpius were whipsawed by wildly gyrating emotions. They were each completing another successful academic year, as they expected they would do. They were finally signing up for their seventh-year classes, the last time they would be doing that at Hogwarts. At the same time, each of them thought themselves ready for the challenges of post-Hogwarts education and felt a little letdown at the prospect of another year at the castle.

Millicent Bulstrode wasn't just the Slytherin Head of House, she was also the informal counselor for a variety of subjects for all of the Potter and Weasley students and their associates. Rose and Iolanthe caught Millicent outside on a stone bench taking some spring sunshine and asked to join her.

"We're bored," Iolanthe began.

"And what would you be doing with yourselves if you weren't here being bored?" Millicent asked.

"Studying law," said Rose. "I see myself at the big table in the law library in chambers, eating the red meat, raw."

"Fixing the broken," added Iolanthe. "Probing the mysteries of healing, adding to the collective knowledge of the profession."

Millicent looked out at the mountains and a little sliver of the lake before her.

"The normal lifespan for witches being what it is, barring catastrophe you both should get a good century of red meat and probing the mysteries," she observed. "Since you've come to see me, I'll be presumptuous and give you a little personal perspective. Before I became reacquainted with your Aunt Ginny, I was successful. Becoming a professor, the Defense professor, no less, at my age was a rare occurrence. The headmistress was pleased with my performance from the start.

"My life, though, was out of balance. It wasn't just because I lacked a partner, although I'd always held onto the hope I'd get to love someone who would love me back. It was all the things the world has to show us, things we miss if we narrow ourselves down to a single dimension. If I'd gone on the way I was I'd be completely useless by now, I have no doubt. My subject matter would have become stale to me, the wonder of teaching lost in the daily routine. I would have stopped learning. Ambition is a wonderful thing, witches, don't think it isn't. It's what drives us forward. Success is a delicious experience that has to be subordinated to not become a parody of itself, even if it's subordinated to learning to appreciate the beauty of the landscape in Scotland."

Iolanthe and Rose sat, lost in their own thoughts. Professor Bulstrode was a philosopher, it seemed. Who knew?

Rose spoke up at last.

"So we should do more of this next year?"

"Look, witches," said Millicent. "You know the positions you hold here. Regardless of house, your peers look up to you. They want to know what you think about pretty much everything, before they make up their own minds. As for the first and second years, you're unreachable. Distant, luminescent beings. Your mothers were much the same when they were here, I recall with great clarity.

"If you want to make your lives more interesting for seventh year, in addition to grinding out your usual perfect scores in all your classes, think about widening your repertoire a bit. Do you know a young witch who's obviously smart but struggling? Has a problem with social life? Can you find a way to include her in your dazzling schedule, maybe give her a little boost? Remember your mentors from study group? You might not have needed them, being who you are, but I'd wager it felt good knowing they were there. Take an interest in those pairings next year. Stay with it. Monitor them for results. If you think a change is warranted work out a gentle, positive way to make it.

"You're both going on to demanding professional studies so pay attention to rounding yourselves out while you still have the time."

Iolanthe looked around to make completely sure they were alone.

"Thanks, Auntie Millicent," she whispered, inducing Rose to do the same.

"Anytime young witches," Millicent replied.

Gryffindor had ground out a win over Ravenclaw in their second match, evening the record and setting up a best of three rubber that would also determine the winner of the Quidditch Cup. A win would in turn figure in the House Cup since the houses were all within striking distance, the race being the tightest in memory.

Zelda had been thinking about a change of position all year. She had grown physically since moving to seeker. Zelda still liked flying around looking for the snitch but seekers usually got one, or at most two attempts at snitch-capture per game. It was hard to maintain interest while hanging around waiting for the snitch to break out into the open, dodging bludgers, bird-dogging the scrum while trying not to cause the chasers problems. Thus, Zelda and the Gryffindor captain, a cousin of Harry's old captain Oliver Wood, had held several private conversations about a move. Each time they'd put off executing it because they both believed Zelda would be needed at seeker, until the week of the third Ravenclaw match.

Zelda's understudy had been progressing and was at least competent. He wasn't close to Hester's class, at least not yet, but a big part of the seeker's job was to be in the right position when the snitch was spotted, to have the best angle, to be closest and able to block one's opponent. Wood thought it was time to take the chance he'd discussed with Zelda, and Zelda agreed.

The stands were packed on Saturday. Only the most hard-core, doctrinaire disparagers of athletics and athletes among the student population took their books and study materials and plopped down ostentatiously in some visible place to demonstrate to observers that they had their priorities straight and would not be suckered into wasting valuable study hours in the stands watching quidditch. At game time, only Zelda and Wood knew what was about to happen. Wood took one of the Gryffindor chasers aside a little before game time, for a private chat in the change area.

"I hate to do this," Wood began, "Especially right now. The fact is, you won't be starting. We had to do it this way because the surprise is essential to success."

He went on to explain that Zelda's understudy would be starting, and Zelda would be moving to keeper. The regular keeper was a converted chaser and had been wanting to get out of goal all season.

"Understand?" asked Wood. "Zelda in goal gives us an edge, especially due to the fact that Ravenclaw will have focused on other things all week."

"Yeah," said the chaser. "I get the idea. I still want to play."

"Well, obviously you're first up for sub at either chaser or keeper," said Wood. "You're going to have to be ready for either. I can't imagine you won't get in the game."

No one on Ravenclaw knew of the switch until the captains exchanged rosters five minutes before the opening whistle.

"Hey," said Ravenclaw's captain, Dorcas Flyte's younger brother, Demosthenes.

"Uh-huh" said Wood.

"You can't do this!" said Flyte.

"What?" asked Madame Hooch.

"They've put some ringer in at seeker," said Flyte. "Gryffindor can't put Zelda back in goal! She's been their seeker all year!"

"What rule have they violated?" asked Madame Hooch. "To the best of my knowledge all teams are free to pick their starting lineups. You certainly are, and you picked this one. Have you ever made a substitution?"

"This is not fair, and I play this game under protest!" shouted Flyte.

"Fine," said Madame Hooch. "Be advised you do not change anything by doing so because Gryffindor have done nothing contrary to the rules. Teams are not obliged to pre-clear lineups with opponents. All they are obliged to do is start the team shown on the rosters we have just exchanged. Now, if there are no other protests, captains will bring out their teams."

Flyte told the Ravenclaws while they were still earth-bound but the fans were apprised of Zelda's return to goal only when their seeker kicked off on a substantially-larger broom wearing keeper's gloves and pads. Today, though, it was not the slightly-built athlete from first year, rather a six-foot, muscular fourth year witch zooming around the Gryffindor goals. Hester climbed well above the other Ravenclaws and sat still on her Firebolt above the Ravenclaw hoops.

"Damn," was the only thing that occurred to Hester. She was initially disappointed that she wouldn't be going head-to-head with Zelda. It was her belief that Zelda had been looking forward to the match as a potential seekers' duel for the ages. Instead, Wood and Zelda had chosen strategy over the drama of athletes going at it, may the best seeker win. In spite of her disappointment Hester found one side of her mouth was curling up in a half smile.

"Uh-huh," she thought. "We will see about that."

Hester got her head back in the game, for the most part, waited for the whistle and started looking for the snitch. She kept a little above the action, circling the field so she could look down for the flash of gold above the green background of the pitch. Ravenclaw elected to test Zelda, hard, right from the opening whistle, deploying attacks right, left and center with chasers in a variety of formations.

Zelda was a little rusty as a keeper, it was true, but she was a great flyer and in superb physical condition. She warmed up quickly and made saves with hands, feet and her broom. At two minutes into the game the Gryffindor stands were on their feet and 'GO ZELDA GO' became deafening.

Even so, the Ravenclaw keeper was no slouch and did a respectable job holding down the Gryffindor score. At one hour the consensus in the stands, had a survey been taken, would have been that the only question was whether one of the seekers would get the snitch before Gryffindor had a truly insurmountable lead. Gryffindor went ahead one hundred sixty to forty at two hours twelve minutes. Zelda bore down even harder. She seemed to be everywhere in front of Gryffindor's goals, able to be physically on one side while blocking on the opposite. That was impossible, of course, but her speed and six-foot frame cancelled out much of Ravenclaw's passing and feints.

Ravenclaw's chasers were relentless in attack and made back forty points from thirty-two shots on goal over the next hour, Gryffindor getting only ten. Another Gryffindor rally could easily put the game out of reach, though, while four-for-thirty-two was not and never would be a winning average. Hester watched the action, and the scoreboard, and knew the snitch, the Quidditch Cup, and quite possibly the House Cup, were all hers to lose.

Hester was methodical in her pursuit of the snitch. She looked down on the scrum because the snitch liked to hide among the players, then she scanned for incoming bludgers, then she crossed the field. That was when she looked for the opposing seeker, who could be a clue to the location of the snitch, depending on what they were doing. Then she did it all again.

Hester had just evaded a bludger and was transiting the pitch, when she located Gryffindor's seeker, a third year Canadian student by the name of Horatio Hudson. Hudson was lying flat against his broomstick with his legs trailing in perfect form for maximizing speed, but the snitch had a good lead. Even so, Hester didn't think she had a chance to beat Hudson to the snitch in a flat race.

The snitch must have considered its chances and come to the same conclusion. Hester looked at the snitch, Hudson, and possible trajectories and put everything on one low-probability bet: she thought the snitch likely to try at least one evasive move, to the left of its current course, and she headed for where she estimated it would be.

One second before certain disaster the entire stadium gasped. Horatio Hudson and Hester Carrow appeared to be on course for a head-on collision at full speed. Hester got to the breaking snitch just ahead of Hudson. She grabbed the snitch in her left hand and pulled up, letting Hudson pass beneath. Her maneuver to get to the snitch, however, shifted her weight well forward of her broom's balance point and she flipped over, tumbling end-over-end, losing momentum and falling toward the ground.

"Put it away, put it away!" Hester heard a voice say, so she did the only thing she could think of. She popped the snitch in her mouth, put her left hand back on her broomstick, and redistributed her weight. Her fall stabilized but she had her back to the ground, looking up at the sky. Hester allowed herself the length of one inhalation before rolling out of her fall, pointing the nose of her broom down to gain a little forward motion, then pulling it back up into a braking attitude. Once back in control, she spotted Madame Hooch nearby, slid into a braking turn and put her feet on the turf as the broom came to a halt.

Hester repeated Harry's presentation of the snitch from decades before, popping it out of her mouth before holding it up between her thumb and forefinger for everyone to see. The stadium was in chaos. Ravenclaws could not wrap their minds around their sudden change in fortune. The match had seemed to go all Gryffindor's way from the beginning. It was beginning to look like Zelda Davis in goal was the talisman that would lead Gryffindor to victory after victory, cup to cup, and unequaled trophies in the school case. Then, suddenly, it wasn't.

Gryffindor let go a collective groan, followed by a great wail someplace in the mezzo-soprano range. The Slytherin section was jubilant. Lots of bygones were allowed to be bygones, but if Slytherin couldn't win, it was that much more important that Gryffindor lose at quidditch. The Hufflepuffs contented themselves with polite clapping, exchanging sentiments along the line of, "Good game." To which the reply might be, "Uh-huh, good one."

Most of the players were on the ground by the time Madame Hooch and Hester completed their formalities. Hester walked over toward some crimson robes, expecting to exchange acknowledgements of a game well-played on both sides, only to find Demosthenes Flyte berating Zelda and Captain Wood.

"That was cheating and you know it," said sore-winner Flyte, pointing his finger over and over at Wood's chest but carefully stopping just short of contact.

"Flyte, listen, you won, go away," said Zelda. She sounded exasperated.

Flyte turned to face Zelda as Hester walked up.

"Captain Flyte, please, just go over to our side and leave these people alone," Hester said, trying to sound like the voice of calm and reason.

"I don't need any help from you!" Flyte shouted. Then he added, "All of you bastards can go…"

It was never clear if Flyte was being personal intentionally or just using a handy collective insult for the Gryffindors, but he'd crossed a line. Hester was on the verge of sending a fist at the point of Demosthenes Flyte's nose when she saw Zelda twisting to her left, obviously winding up to throw a jab someplace, and she changed direction.

"NO-o-o-o!" Hester shouted, throwing herself at Zelda, whose fist glanced off Hester's shoulder and continued on to her cheekbone. It was almost out of momentum and Zelda had been in the midst of pulling her punch when she saw Hester moving in, but two knuckle-sized welts appeared immediately when she drew back her hand.

Zelda felt like taking another shot at Flyte but Hester had her in a bear hug and kept saying, "Nope, nope, nope, you're not going to do this. Nope."

Meanwhile Hester kept her feet moving and pushed Zelda back a few feet. Blaise came trotting up as Zelda broke into tears of rage.

"Got her," he said, putting his own bear hug on the still-struggling Zelda and lifting her feet off the ground. "Thanks. Good all around. How you doing, Baby? It's okay, it's okay, all over now, I've got you, great game today…"

Harry, Daphne and the Carrow twins arrived and surrounded Hester, forming their own cordon and moving away from the confrontation.

Demosthenes Flyte must have realized immediately what a gaffe he'd made because he started stringing words together in a somewhat nonsensical way.

"Now, I didn't mean…don't say I said…"

"We all heard you, Flyte!" shouted one of the Ravenclaw beaters, a seventh year witch from Liverpool, her white knuckles showing what a death grip she had on the club she still held. "Apologize right now or I'll knock your teeth out myself!"

Faculty started showing up, taking charge of the players by twos and threes and getting them separated and moving in the direction of their changing rooms. Professor Flitwick convened the Ravenclaws and waited for the shouting to die down. When the players didn't show any sign they intended to stop he cast a little silencing charm that did the trick. Some finger-jabbing went on but that didn't make any noise.

"Team," said the professor. "What can I say? A brilliant victory requiring stamina, unflagging determination and superb play, from everyone on a broom, and now what? I doubt if our seeker will join us before dinner, if even then, and who can blame her? Still, we have to go on. I'm going to let everyone have their say, beginning with our captain."

Professor Flitwick canceled his charm and brought Demosthenes Flyte up to face his teammates.

"I did not mean…" Flyte tried to general derision. Professor Flitwick raised his wand in warning.

"I'm sorry," Flyte tried. "I am so sorry. The professor is right. It was a great day for Ravenclaw, and I have ruined it."

Flyte wanted to continue, but he couldn't. He had a lot more that he wanted to say but it was going to have to wait for another day.

"Thank-you, Mr. Flyte," said Professor Flitwick. "Anyone else? Right. Now, let's get changed and back to Ravenclaw Tower. There won't be a victory celebration, but you all have a right to lift the Quidditch Cup."

Madame Hooch wrote up a report and submitted it to the headmistress within the hour. The headmistress talked to everyone involved and two days later she handed down her ruling. Demosthenes Flyte cost Ravenclaw the House Cup by losing fifty points for his inexcusable rudeness and unsportsmanlike conduct. Zelda had actually let her fist fly, hitting Hester. Hester had tried to make a case for letting Zelda off with an admonishment since Zelda had been provoked and Hester was torn between getting Zelda out of the area and punching Flyte herself. Professor McGonagall wasn't having it, though, and took off a pro forma five points each for Hester and Zelda's intentions to hit Flyte even if neither of them got the job done.

Hester and Zelda agreed to wait until the changing rooms were clear before getting out of their quidditch robes, then rejoined their families on a long, slow stroll back to the castle.

"You're a game-changer, Zelda," said Hester at one point. "When you're in goal? We're going to have to find a way."

"How will you do that?" asked Tracey.

"Don't know," said Hester. "Anyway, that's next year."

It was a beautiful afternoon in May and the grounds around the castle were filled with mothers and fathers with a student or two as well as large multi-family groups standing around, talking about the game. Hester and Zelda and the Potters passed through with minimal notice, a few 'Good game!' comments aside.

"Suggestions?" Harry asked as they neared the castle. Everyone slowed down, forming a shapeless clump. Iolanthe had wandered up to the tail end of the procession at some point and came up to Hester.

"Nice," she said, looking at Hester's cheek.

"I kind of like it," Hester said, touching her fingertips to the two puffy bumps. "Anyway, by the time Zelda got to me she didn't have much behind it."

Zelda looked down at the ground.

"Had that coming, I guess," she said.

At some point the group took a collective decision to head for the Three Broomsticks. Harry tried to pay but Blaise wouldn't hear of it. He wanted to pay. Everyone saved face when they agreed to split the cost of dinner.

The unseemly end of the season-deciding quidditch match dampened some of the highest of the high spirits for a few days, but there were exams to take and travel arrangements to solidify, so year's-end normalcy returned fairly quickly.

The Potters hosted an end-of-term or beginning of summer dinner at #12 Grimmauld Place for Blaise, Tracey and Zelda, Draco and Scorpius, the Granger-Weasleys, and the Carrows. Kreacher was in his element, resplendent in his toga, bringing course after course, aglow in the steady stream of compliments.

Someone suggested the garden was just the place for dessert. The students were the first to make a move so all the parents ceded the garden to them.

"Welp," said Iolanthe when everyone was settled, "Here we all are."

"Morgana bless us, every one," added Rose.

Dessert was fresh strawberries with cream, plus choice of beverage. The adults were getting along quite well, a pleasant development. Perhaps that was to be expected, given they'd had three decades to meditate on the consequences of mindless violence. Even with the general good feelings the evening had to come to an end.

Blaise left first, accompanied by Zelda. They had scheduled a short visit to Nice, for a quidditch match, but Blaise had a plan to take Zelda to see some of the abundant art nearby. Zelda was a competent assistant to Tracey and was probably destined to play at least a few seasons of professional quidditch, so Blaise assumed responsibility for Zelda's cultural explorations.

Much of the fun left with Zelda, in Hester's opinion, so she returned to the dining room and pled fatigue, departing for Surrey with Flora and Hestia. The Malfoys and Granger-Weasleys lasted just a few minutes more.

"All done?" asked Daphne as she stepped down onto the garden pavers.

"Sure," said Iolanthe.

"Pretty much," added James, not looking at his mother because he was mentally uprooting the dead stalks and planning the rebirth of the beds in the townhouse garden.

Kreacher had the garden cleaned up and ready for an al fresco breakfast the next morning. Harry and Daphne got there first, each with a twin to tend, when Iolanthe arrived.

"Going to work, Mother?" Iolanthe asked.

"An hour or two, at most," said Daphne. "I have to get back to see that my beautiful children get their summer break off to a good start, don't I? Do you have anything you want to do today?"

"I'll go with you and sit in the cafeteria, if that's okay," said Iolanthe. "I might run into someone to talk shop with."

"You're formally on track for your seventh year studies, NEWTs and your mastery, now," said Daphne, "So I'll be happy to take you to my floor, if you're interested in mental maladies."

"It wouldn't hurt me to see how mental maladies works," said Iolanthe.

"Wouldn't that be redundant?" said a voice from inside. James stepped down through the door to the second drawing room. "Witches? Wizards? Mental maladies?"

James felt the need to underline his main point.

"What do you have planned?" asked Iolanthe, making a point of her own by ignoring James' impertinence.

"Tracey has to go to St. Magnus to confer, sometime in the next week," James said. "I'm invited, if we're free."

"Confer?" said at least two voices.

"Moira and her knitters," said James. "She's supposed to have some good ones lined up. All they need is yarn and some orders. Tracey will handle relations with magical vendors and the knitters will deliver product. Tracey has shops ready to give Isle of St. Magnus sweaters a go. Not just Diagon Alley, either."

"Impressive," Iolanthe admitted. "Moira and Tracey are going to be sweater tycoons, then?"

"To start," said James.

Everyone waited for James to continue, but he had other things on his mind.

"Anyone else hungry? I've been dreaming about breakfast for the last three weeks," James said.

"Don't they serve breakfast at Hogwarts anymore, dear?" asked Daphne.

"Of a sort, one could say," replied James. "Just not in this garden. From our kitchen. With all the Kreacher touches. Kreacher?"

"Master James!" Kreacher sounded very enthusiastic as he materialized at James' elbow. "Breakfast? Kreacher can prepare eggs, any style, pancakes with the woodlanders' private reserve maple syrup, fried potatoes, fresh fruit with the Albanian yogurt Mr. Draco brings in, several kinds of cheese…"

"The fresh fruit with yogurt, a toasted muffin with crème fraiche, and orange juice," said James. "A pot of tea to go with it, please."

"Of course, Master James," said Kreacher before disapparating with a little 'pop.'

"Ummmm…" James said as he took his first bite of a pineapple chunk with yogurt. "This is what I've been missing."

"James Greengrass Potter, magical London sophisticate, and gourmet," Iolanthe observed. "Who knew?"

James looked at Iolanthe and gave her a wink.

"To start?" Iolanthe asked. "Expand, please."

"The sweaters are the first items in what we hope will be a line of Isle of St. Magnus brand products," James said. "Moira and Tracey raised the idea of a co-op with the knitters. That ought to work just fine, but it's presently Moira and three more, two women and one man. The witches have houses and children, some gardening, but time to knit. The wizard still fishes, although he is getting along in years and doesn't think he'll fit the fishing lifestyle forever, so he'd like to transition to something a little less demanding. Four knitters with other responsibilities won't produce enough to establish a brand for the island. BUT, it's a start, with the possibility of expanding to some of the magical plants and shellfish Grandfather has been buying for years and years, plus some unique food products the islanders make, all under the Isle of St. Magnus Co-operative label. Ultimately they may be able to develop some carefully-managed tourism catering to magical types looking for the restorative powers of quiet, sea air and a glass of Isle of St. Magnus Gooseberry Juice at breakfast."

"Whose genes?" Iolanthe demanded, looking between Harry and Daphne.

"Genes?" said Tracey, who was standing in the doorway. She was dressed in a crimson silk pajama set with matching mules and nails.

"Gryffindor?" asked Harry, obviously pleased.

"Yes, in tribute to my daughter, whom I already miss and who was robbed of certain victory yesterday, through no fault of her own," said Tracey.

"Yes, that's quidditch, of course," Harry said. He left off the part about his daughter being the robber. Zelda and Hester had seemed fine with the outcome, perhaps due to bonding over their shared desire to punch Demosthenes Flyte silly.

"James was telling us about your new venture," said Iolanthe as Tracey took a seat at the table. "The St. Magnus co-operative."

"Not mine, exactly," Tracey said. "James is too modest. James, Teddy and Moira are the brains and the visionaries. I'm more of an agent."

"And our mentor," said James, eliciting a slight blush from Tracey. Daphne thought that might be a first.

"Maybe, a little," Tracey conceded. "What's this about genes?"

"Oh, I want to know where James got all his expansive business knowledge," said Iolanthe. "I don't have any, and, to be as kind as possible, neither do they."

She indicated her parents with a toss of her head. Daphne got a bemused look and Harry just nodded.

"True," he finally acknowledged.

"Grandfather," said James, just a bit of exasperation showing. "He has thought all of this through. He bought from individual collectors. There never was enough volume to make it useful for someone to organize a profit-making enterprise around the magical herbs and shellfish, but a co-op to handle the marketing and administration makes sense. Same with the knitting. The islanders do all sorts of things that originate in life skills for an unplottable rock. In turn, you have all these unique island artifacts that could be in snapped up by witches and wizards in the outside world if someone would take the trouble to find a way to reach those markets."

"Well done, then, James," said Harry. "You know how to listen to, and learn from, the people around you. Only the smartest people master that, often too late in life for it to make a difference. When do you plan to go?"

"Not settled, just yet," said Tracey. "Waiting to hear from St. Magnus."

A faint "Hullo?" came from inside.

"Could be Moira," said James as he got up.

A minute or two later a 'whoosh' came from inside, followed shortly by James' return.

"Wasn't Moira," he said, stepping into the garden.

"Hullo, all," said Lissette Lestrange as she followed James out from the drawing room.

"Lissette!" Iolanthe nearly screamed, jumping out of her chair. She opened up her arms just as Lissette did the same.

"You're back, you're back, you're back!" Iolanthe said into Lissette's neck. "Whoo! How have you been? Sit down and have some breakfast and tell us all about everything."

"It's been great," Lissette said as she pulled up a chair. "Lots of work. I've rotated through the specialties. I've qualified for my mastery and will receive my diploma at the next convocation of the Guild. Cousin Caroline wants me closer to _l'Anse_ , so I'm taking up a position in a hospital down the coast a little way. I can stay with her and commute."

"Well, that is something, Lissette," said Daphne.

"I'll say," Tracey said, seconding. "And look at you! Fit! Glowing!"

"That's Iolanthe's work," said Lissette. "All those rambles. I started doing something every day, even if it was twenty minutes of walking at a fast pace."

"So, where's your stuff? Are you staying?" Iolanthe asked.

"One little bag for an overnight, just inside," Lissette said. "I'll be back and forth for a few weeks. Administration, the diploma, some shopping, then back to the Riviera full time."

Iolanthe would have liked to have Lissette close by while she was at liberty for the summer, but this was better than nothing.

Breakfast was followed by Daphne, Lissette and Iolanthe going to St. Mungo's together. Daphne introduced Lissette and Iolanthe to everyone, healers, patients and staff. Lissette collected a pocketful of business cards from the healers, along with an offer with each card to consult whenever Lissette felt the need.

Tracey and James did travel to St. Magnus for a few hours, returning with Moira after promising Agnes they'd bring her back the following day. Moira got her own room in a corner of the third floor, although Iolanthe wondered to herself how long the Potters would need to observe such proprieties.

Daphne did not have a lot to do at St. Mungo's that morning. In fact, she probably spent more time escorting and introducing her young colleagues than anything else. The medical Potters were back at #12 shortly after eleven. Lissette was quite bubbly after spending the morning in the company of such a distinguished healer as Daphne.

"Thank-you, Daphne," she said. "I feel like a healer."

They'd just gotten home and Daphne had suggested a cup of tea in her study.

"You are a healer," Daphne said. "It shows. You've worked very hard to get where you are, and you have empathy in abundance. I'd go to you if I needed a healer."

Walburga couldn't contain herself.

"Slytherin witches!" she muttered, beaming down at the trio.

"Yes, Madame Walburga, and Blacks to boot," said Iolanthe.

When they'd finished their tea Daphne went looking for Harry and the twins, who had better be around someplace since she hadn't approved any outings in advance.

"Could we…?" Iolanthe asked as she climbed the stairs with Lissette.

"Sure," Lissette said, following Iolanthe into her room.

"I missed you," Iolanthe said.

"I missed you, too," answered Lissette. "You've been spending time with your drawings of me, I'm guessing. I thought you might."

Iolanthe looked a little sheepish.

"Ah, it's that obvious?" she said, followed by a long sigh. "Might as well get right to it, then. I have been wondering…if you felt anything. Like feelings. Those kinds of feelings? Anything different?"

"No, I'm free of all that, and I think I always will be," said Lissette. "While I was studying I spent a lot of time in the library, in some specialized sections, reading and reading, and in my opinion I believe it just goes along with my magical peculiarity as a sprite. I'm sorry, Iolanthe. I know what to do, if you want me that way. Just so you understand, I can't give back what you want to give me. That isn't what is inside me. It's just not there."

Iolanthe looked at Lissette, then she sighed and looked down at the floor.

"I suppose I knew that," said Iolanthe. "I had to ask."

"I'm thrilled that you did," said Lissette. "I didn't think you'd want to try bonding with a dish cloth so I felt safe offering. I'd rather be your friend, professional colleague and companion forever than half of a dysfunctional couple. If you'd like to try that?"

"Of course, you're completely right," said Iolanthe. "I think I always knew. You were honest from the start. The way you look, though…"

Lissette laughed out loud.

"That's a sprite crush," she said. "Nymphs, sprites, sirens…I'm not that good-looking, and I'm realistic enough to accept it. For better or worse, I'm an oddity. Maybe there's someone besides me who's piqued your interest?"

"Oh, well, occasionally, there will be a little flutter," Iolanthe said, blushing. "None of that thunder and lightning one reads about."

"So far," added Lissette. "Daphne was alone for a long time, wasn't she? Living at home, focusing on her professional development, helping your grandfather with his business, being a devoted daughter and sister, then…thunder and lightning!"

"True," said Iolanthe.

"Not everyone can be as lucky as Rose and Scorpius," said Lissette.

"James and Moira seem to have," answered Iolanthe.

"Perhaps," said Lissette. "Perhaps you and I have to follow the Daphne model. Learn our trade. Become proficient at healing our people. We both have a gift. You know we do."

Iolanthe sat on her bed, staring straight ahead, at nothing in particular.

"All I have to do is pick them up," Iolanthe muttered.

"Say that again?" said Lissette.

"Something Madame Walburga told one of the young Slytherin witches, right after she'd been sorted," Iolanthe said. "We will give you the tools to do whatever you want in life, all you have to do is pick them up."

"And she was right, wasn't she?" asked Lissette. "Slytherin House has been there for me at one or two critical moments. Besides Slytherin, you got so lucky with your parents. I'm thinking specifically of Daphne. You can have tea with Lady Black in her study whenever you want. I'd think it over very carefully before I walked away from that."

"You're right, once again," said Iolanthe, standing up. "Let's get your bag to your room and go model some Slytherin leadership. Need to clean up? We can't dither. There are Hufflepuffs about who will need guidance."


	63. Chapter 63

Wheels Within Wheels

Iolanthe

Chapter Sixty-Three

They Are Readied for Launch

By the first week in August, Lissette had received her diploma, done her London shopping, and was looking forward to taking up her duties at the local magical hospital that served _l'Anse des Sorciers_.

The Potters were sorry to see her go while sharing her excitement about commencing her first professional appointment. Everyone gathered for one last breakfast on the patio at Potter Manor. The August morning was glorious. Daphne had invited Kreacher, Melon and Winky, who weren't really needed as extra help, but who she knew would be grateful they'd been included in Lissette's farewell meal with the family.

"Where will we go when we come to visit?" Iolanthe asked. She had already planned to give Lissette two weeks to settle in, then work in a short trip to l _'Anse_ , just before the start of school.

"I can't speak for the Serene," said Lissette. "Not without asking first. I think you could stay with me. That palace of hers seems to have unlimited space. Probably something I need to explore."

"Oh, well, I'm not inviting myself," said Iolanthe. "Is there a hotel or hostel or something like it?"

"Definitely," said Lissette. "We'll work it out. Owls!"

"Owls," confirmed Iolanthe.

"Lissette," said James as he exited the house followed by Moira. "Something for your going-away, to remember us by."

James handed Lissette a package wrapped in white tissue paper and tied up in an elaborate emerald green ribbon.

"Oh, my, what could that be?" asked Iolanthe, pretending everyone didn't already have a pretty good guess what it was.

Lissette opened the package and shook out a sweater, all natural merino wool except for a band of emerald green at the neck and wrists. Lissette held the sweater up to her face and breathed in.

"Mmm…" she said. "I can smell the sea! I won't have any trouble remembering both of you!"

"It's the first piece from the co-op," Moira said. "Except for the samples Tracey has. You're right on the water there in _l'Anse_. You'll want something snug when the sun goes down."

Lissette dispensed the ritual hugs and kisses, starting with James and Moira. Once she got going she continued to work her way through the rest of the family, ending with Daphne.

"Lady Daphne," Lissette said, a distinct catch in her voice. Daphne extended her right hand, which Lissette held in both of hers.

"How can I ever…" Lissette began, only to find she couldn't go on.

"Lissette, dear, all you have to do is what you are doing right now," Daphne said. "Excuse us, everyone?"

Daphne put her arm around Lissette's waist and led her a little way toward the green.

"Lissette, I could not have predicted, in my wildest flight of imagination, what it would mean to have you join our family," Daphne said as they walked. Lissette started to sniff a little.

"We are so proud to have been a part of all you've accomplished in the last two years," Daphne went on. "I speak for everyone, wishing you a wonderful career and a happy, happy life with Caroline. We'll come as often as we can, and you are always welcome to join us, wherever we are."

Lissette brought Daphne's hand to her lips and kissed it.

"Mother," Lissette managed to whisper, then stopped. Her tears fell on the back of Daphne's hand.

"Yes, darling, always," said Daphne as she rubbed Lissette's back with her left hand. "Never doubt it, ever. Now, are you watching the time? Your port key won't wait."

Lissette giggled through her tears, nodding.

"I know," she said, kissing Daphne's hand one more time. "Do come see me, soon?"

"Of course," said Daphne.

Everyone was drained after the emotion of Lissette's farewell. The Potters sat around the tables, nibbling on bacon and muffins with marmalade.

"How's your French?" James asked Iolanthe.

"Going to get better," said Iolanthe.

"That's the spirit," said Moira, trying to put a sincere look on her face. Iolanthe seemed to accept her effort as genuine.

"That was a beautiful sweater, Moira," said Iolanthe.

"Thank-you, although I didn't knit that one," Moira said. "One of our associates did it."

"How is production going?" Daphne asked.

"Fine, considering we still have our original knitters," said Moira. "Five of us at present."

"We're looking at the sweaters always being a small-volume, specialty product," said Tracey. "At least until more people take up knitting for the co-op. It looks like we'll sell all we can make, though, so maybe that is the niche. A relatively small supply but strong demand, bringing in turn a decent margin and a good return for our members. We all agree we won't compromise on quality. The whole idea is to build Isle of St. Magnus into a metaphor for original products for the discerning witch or wizard."

Daphne and Harry sat, looking between Tracey, Moira and James.

"Who are these people?" Iolanthe asked Daphne.

"I think they're called tycoons," said Harry.

"Begging your pardon, Lord Harry," said Moira. "We don't want to be tycoons. This is all about putting something of an actual economy in the hands of my neighbors. We've been at the mercy of weather and fishing forever. James and Teddy brought a new idea and everyone is giving it a try."

Iolanthe studied Moira's face. Something about the girl from the Isles, whom Iolanthe assumed had a ninety-nine percent chance of becoming her sister-in-law, said she was both serious and destined for success. She wasn't a stranger to work and knew a workable idea when she saw it.

Iolanthe caught up with Daphne in the library later on in the day.

"We have to discreetly research St. Magnus' health care situation," Iolanthe said.

"Do we?" asked Daphne.

"Yes, Mother," said Iolanthe. "We can't leave the St. Magnus Potters to some uncertain fate."

"I expect by the time there are actual St. Magnus Potters the situation will have evolved significantly from where it is today," said Daphne. "Since that is going to be, what, four or five years out?"

"Mother, you know what I mean," said Iolanthe. "They're going to be there on St. Magnus and my niece or nephew will be coming and they'll have to have proper support. Midwife, a fully-qualified healer to back up the midwife, trained professional staff with experience working with newborns…"

Daphne burst out laughing.

"Iolanthe, you are getting out ahead of yourself," she said. "I don't object to your making some discreet inquiries. Be very careful, though, not to come across as the Londoner dispensing grace and favor to the people of the isles. They're very proud of their skills, the resilience required just to survive in that environment. Rightfully so, I might add. Those kinds of situations require tact. Outsiders can do more harm than good if they're not careful."

"I want to help," Iolanthe said. "Moira is really…she's special. I was so thick, I didn't give her any credit in the beginning. She's been growing on me. It took a couple of years but I'm finally starting to see what James sees. She's smart enough, but that isn't it. It's more that she is an original thinker. She has a vision, doesn't she? Don't get me wrong, but the next generation of Potters needs that. All of us are growing up privileged. We were blessed with the skills and you and Father provide the money. Lissette coming to visit reminded me. Having her here brought it all back, how she'd been in that awful situation and we got her out and she made the most of it."

"You got her out, darling," said Daphne. "You get all the credit. Mother and I still talk about it. You were really on your game that day."

"Oh, well, I was glad to do it," muttered Iolanthe. "My point, though, was James and I…"

"I got your point dear," said Daphne. "And you're right. I grew up in a privileged environment much like you and your brothers. It is very wise of you to recognize it. Many people with our means take it for granted, like we somehow deserve it, that it has always and will always be there, when luck is the most significant factor. The Romans named the goddess in charge Fortuna. She can be whimsical, especially if we forget how large a role she plays. She isn't shy about reminding us."

"Whom the gods would destroy they first make proud," said Iolanthe. "Read that somewhere."

"Pride goeth before the fall," countered Daphne. "Did you show Lissette your pig while she was here?"

Iolanthe, shocked into a wordless state, sat staring at her mother.

"How…?" she tried, getting no further.

"Oh, your father, Lord Potter-Black, one of the adults hereabouts," said Daphne. "He likes to broom about the marches of his domain, inspect the wards, establish new ones, that sort of thing. His idea of fun is identifying threats, particularly ones that might harm his first-born, and neutralizing them. The magical enclosure for his prisoner is always of interest, since the gentleman inside nurses a grudge and once swore to kill Lord Harry and ruin every member of his family. Lord Harry couldn't help but notice…"

"A new pig," Iolanthe finished for Daphne. "Yes. Right. You see, when I took Hester to St. Guinefort…"

Iolanthe told about the port key in the form of a silver-headed walking stick, the thuggish fellow who took it from her, waiting with Hester for the stick's return and the foolish man's unwise refusal to let go.

"He went for his wand, Mother! Right here on our green! A Potter-Black could not let that go unanswered."

"No one could fault you for meeting the miscreant's challenge, Iolanthe. You taught him to think twice before challenging a Black warlord, as your father and I would expect. Have you been checking on him? Did you reverse the spell and let him speak as a human?" Daphne asked.

"No," Iolanthe sighed. "I do check on him but as time went by I gradually became attached to him, as a pig. He's a Hampshire, quite handsome, and a nice contrast to Jacques. He's fed, watered and safe. I began to think it might be possible to keep him."

"First of all, I am very proud of you for the excellent witchcraft, Iolanthe, don't ever think I'm not," Daphne began. "You defended yourself and your sister from an unknown wizard who could have proven very dangerous. Still, it's not exactly justice to impose unlimited summary judgement for a petty crime. We'll think it through and come up with a plan to present to the Head Auror Emeritus."

The hardest part of the plan was reconciling indecision over whether to transport the guest back to St. Guinefort with his faculties intact, or to obliviate him first. There were solid arguments either way. Obliviate and the man would not remember his captor nor his porcine sojourn in Devon. The opportunity for rehabilitation through meditation on the loss of freedom occasioned by his offense would thereby be lost. Return him to his human form and consciousness before transport and he might look for a way to retaliate. The Potters wanted to preserve their access to St. Guinefort for family getaways. They wouldn't want to put a wizard with a permanent negative attitude toward Potters back in a potential holiday environment.

The final decision was simple enough. Harry purchased a cheap, one-way port key that could be pinned to the wizard's clothing. Iolanthe went to see her pig one last time. She made sure Jacques was asleep under the oak tree, put a _petrificus_ on her Hampshire and brought him out to the clearing in the woods. There she reversed the _porcinafors,_ pinned the port key to her captive, and conducted a brief interrogation.

"Learn your lesson?" she asked, keeping her wand pointed at his face.

"Yes," said the wizard, just managing to talk through the _petrificus_.

"Yes, what?" Iolanthe asked.

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

"Do yourself a big, big favor, then," said Iolanthe. "Find another line of work. If you can't rob two teenage witches having tea you do not have a vocation for crime."

The wizard got a panicked look on his face when he noticed Iolanthe keeping her watch visible, obviously waiting for the port key to go active.

"Wand?" he squeeked out.

"What's your name?" Iolanthe asked. "I'll get it to you."

"Jules," said the wizard. "Jules Lestrange."

The port key activated and the wizard disappeared.

"Excellent, Iolanthe," said Daphne, clapping her hands and stepping out from behind the sycamore tree where she'd discreetly waited, available for backup.

"Another Lestrange!" exclaimed Iolanthe. "What is it with them?"

"I don't know," said Daphne, trying not to laugh. "There has to be some kind of connection, probably lost in the mists of time."

True to her word, Iolanthe packaged up Jules Lestrange's wand, addressed it to 'Jules Lestrange—St. Guinefort' and sent it off with the big barred owl.

Time seemed to fly that summer and Iolanthe's pre-fall term visit was pared down to a day trip to _l'Anse_. Still, it was better than nothing, and it gave her another opportunity to invite Hester to accompany her on an outing. Flora and Hestia were cautious, but Harry offered to go along and keep an eye on the two from a discreet distance.

Caroline had her own small security unit, of course, so Harry sent a note to the chief in advance. The chief appreciated the professional courtesy and insisted on detailing an officer to accompany Harry. It wasn't until afterwards that Harry began to think that the chief was more worried about some old grudge arising from Harry's years of service and besmirching the quiet and peaceful reputation of the jewel-like _l'Anse des Sorciers_.

The travelers picked a beautiful, late-summer day and the waterfront was washed in Mediterranean colors. Lissette, Iolanthe and Hester were strolling, window-shopping and luxuriating in the Riviera mystique when a voice called out "Iolanthe!" from a sidewalk café. Iolanthe struggled to pick out the speaker under the deep shade cast by the red umbrellas over the outdoor tables.

"Over here!" came the voice. Iolanthe saw an arm waving, but not much else. That didn't matter because she finally recognized the distinctive voice.

"Cordelia?"

Iolanthe raised her sunglasses and saw Cordelia Macmillan's smiling face in the shadow.

"You two know Cordelia?" Iolanthe asked. "Might as well go say hello."

Lissette could barely recall Cordelia and Bridget, but Hester remembered them well.

"Hullo, Iolanthe, Hester, and wasn't it Lissette?" asked Cordelia in her best Miss Annabelle's diction.

"Wow, that's pretty good," said Lissette. "I don't think I'd have recognized you."

"Of course not, you were much too far ahead of me. Witches, these are my parents, Malcolm and Rebecca Macmillan, and my sister Boudica."

The witches shook hands and assured the Macmillans they were all very pleased to meet Cordelia's family.

Iolanthe introduced the witches in turn.

"Lissette and I know one another from Slytherin," Iolanthe said in explanation, "And Lissette just recently completed her qualifications as a healer and is practicing very near here. Hester is my sister, and a quidditch player in Ravenclaw."

"Oh," said Rebecca Macmillan, "I didn't realize…you're Hester Potter, then?"

"No, I'm Hester Carrow," Hester explained, looking straight into Rebecca's eyes as she slipped her arm through Iolanthe's. "Iolanthe and I share a father."

Rebecca Macmillan looked away, stammering, "Oh, I, uh, didn't mean to pry, I assure you…"

"Quite all right, Mrs. Macmillan," said Hester, "Believe me, it took awhile for us to get used to the idea, once we found out."

Iolanthe looked at Cordelia and winked, causing Cordelia to put both hands over her face, while Malcolm Macmillan let go a boisterous laugh.

"Great!" he said, "Absolutely first rate! And you're getting in a visit to your healer cousin before term commences?"

"Something like that," said Iolanthe.

"Well, sit down, then, have a coffee or a butterbeer," Malcolm said. "Tell us what you've been up to. Cordelia told us all about how the Slytherin witches have been so kind to Bridget and to her. You have made up for the paucity of Slytherins in their year, and we appreciate it, don't we, Rebecca?"

The next half hour was all conviviality finished up with Rebecca trying once more to make up for her gaffe.

"Mrs. Macmillan, believe me, it is fine," said Iolanthe. "We're unusual, we know. It takes some time to get one's mind around, wouldn't you say, witches?"

Lissette and Hester had to snicker a little before answering.

"Oh, yes," said Hester.

"To say the least," added Lissette.

"Still say that's first rate," said Malcolm as the witches took their leave.

"Should have invited the girls," said Lissette as she operated the lift to take herself and her friends up to Caroline's residence. "That Cordelia takes the cake."

"I know," said Iolanthe. "Madame Walburga picked up the accent right away. Snob."

"Now, Madame Walburga…" Lissette began.

"Oh, I know, she's kind of a patron saint around the Blacks," said Iolanthe. "Miss Annabelle's does specialize in a certain kind of young witch, though. Too many in a confined space and one risks contracting terminal sweetness."

The lift arrived at the upper platform and the three climbed the steps to the veranda where they could see Caroline waiting for them. The lift started up on its own and began to descend the hill.

Caroline stood up from a wicker settee rocker when the witches reached the veranda.

"Iolanthe, thank-you for coming to visit us!" she said. "I hope you're ready for some tea and conversation. Who is this with you?"

"Madame, this is my sister, Miss Hester Carrow, of Ravenclaw House and Surrey," Iolanthe said. "I only learned about her recently and we've grown quite fond of one another. She is a great traveling companion, among other things."

Hester took Caroline's fingertips and curtsied.

"So honored, Madame," she said. "I've heard so much about you from the Potters."

"Well, then we must all sit down and discuss this!" said Caroline. She called for an elf to pour the tea while she passed around little plates with shortbread cookies.

"How did you discover one another," Caroline asked, her eyes twinkling.

"Father, Harry, and Hester's mother had a brief affair right after the end of the war, and Hestia, that's her mother, performed some extraordinary witchcraft and became pregnant some years later," said Iolanthe, looking over at Hester.

"Yes, very good, Iolanthe," said Hester. "That is the essential information."

"Wonderful!" said Caroline. "What exquisite magic to have brought you to us! And now you have each other to get to know and appreciate. Your mother is a remarkable witch!"

"Ah, not just my mother," said Hester. "She has a twin sister, my aunt Flora. They collaborated."

"Marvelously dramatic," said the Serene. "It's like an opera. Perhaps it should be. Maybe I will commission one based on the story. Oh! The romance!"

Harry Potter finished climbing up from the lift's terminus.

"Don't want to intrude," he said. "I'll be down at the platform when you want to leave. Madame."

Harry bowed his best Lord Potter-Black bow.

"Oh, no, Lord Harry, please stay. You simply must!" said Caroline. "Your daughters have just told me the most marvelous story. You were apart, separated, none aware of the others, until you were!"

"They are both bright and highly skilled, for their age," Harry said. "I am proud to be Hester's father. Her aunt and her mother get all the credit, of course. They took great care raising Hester, keeping her safe and modeling how to be a gracious young witch. We've just begun getting to know one another."

"What brought about your reunion?" asked Caroline.

"That was me, Madame," said Hester. "I bear a close resemblance to my half-brother James. It was obvious all last year. Mother and Aunt Flora bowed to necessity and we all sat down and had a talk. Finally."

"Yes, dear, you do," Caroline said, studying Hester's face. "You don't do half-measures, Lord Harry. You've certainly signed your work, haven't you?"

Caroline laughed at her own joke, so everyone else had to join in. The Serene called for her elf and ordered up a chair for Harry and another cup for tea.

"The Potters have a standing invitation here, Hester, all of them," said Caroline. "Little countries such as ours need all the friends we can get. Please mention us to your mother and aunt. If we can get you to come for a holiday I'm sure we can guarantee everyone a good time."

"I can see that, Madame," said Hester. "It's quite the place. Quiet, natural beauty, sidewalk cafés on the water. Perfect."

Caroline puffed up a bit hearing Hester's appreciation of her principality. Turning to Harry she said, "Your future diplomat?"

Harry felt a flush creep up his face.

"Why not? It looks like she will be playing quidditch for someone following school, but she'll need something to do when she retires," he said. "The ministry would definitely benefit from her presence."

The tea and shortbread held out but time grew short for the Potters. Iolanthe cited her obligation to get Hester back safely to her mother and aunt, along with a promise to revisit at the earliest opportunity.

The Potters returned to Potter Manor by port key, landing on the green.

"Stay for dinner?" Harry asked. "Assuming there is someone around to have dinner with."

"If I can floo-call Mum," said Hester. "Thank-you for the invitation."

"They'd be welcome, too," Harry said. "Hestia and Flora. It's really no trouble. See if they want to have dinner on the patio and watch the shadows get long."

Dinner actually continued well after the shadows lengthened to full night. Ginny and Millicent were in residence, so Millicent pitched in, sitting next to Davis and assisting with his meal of smushed-up vegetables and bite-sized chunks of grilled chicken breast. Iolanthe was making the most of her remaining days of family life and sat with Evans, helping to manage his plate and chatting him up in a pastiche of English interspersed with racy comments disguised in parseltongue.

"Any idea where Zelda is?" Hester asked.

"Zelda is with Tracey," said Daphne. "A lawn party at a residence somewhere around Glasgow. A bit of a production for an artistic magical crowd. A small orchestra, a singer."

"What exactly does Tracey _do?"_ asked Hestia. "I know she goes to a lot of parties. The Prophet's social column would be empty without her."

"She has a business," said Daphne. "When wizarding types who want a spectacular engagement party or wedding or anniversary reception start to plan, they often find it is beyond their capabilities to bring about what they've got in mind, so they call for Tracey Davis. She took over Draco and Astoria's engagement party years ago and it just kind of grew from there."

"Why didn't we think of that?" Flora asked, looking over at Hestia.

"Do you like parties that much?" asked Hestia.

"Not really," said Flora.

"Me neither," Hestia said. "We probably wouldn't be very good at it."

"You two are nothing if not honest," said Hester, speaking with the wisdom of all fifteen of her years. "Does Zelda go to the parties as a guest?"

"Oh, no," said Daphne. "She is Tracey's assistant. Tracey said she could take over the business tomorrow if she wanted. She's got Tracey's eye for detail and a double dose of charisma. She'll have to take it all in stages. One can't run a business from a broomstick."

August came to an end and the family found itself back on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters once more.

"Last time you'll do this," Harry observed.

"Sometimes I thought it would never get here," said Iolanthe. "It's been great, don't get me wrong. I got to do the last six years with Scorpius and Rose. Madame Pomfrey and Mother found my vocation for me. I'd just rather get on with my training."

"But you are going to be spending close to full time on healing this term, aren't you?" Harry asked.

"Except for Auntie Millicent," said Iolanthe. "Seventh year Defense is heavy on the sparring and dueling. We're supposed to be able to recognize and neutralize the more common dark curses by now. She also wants us to rotate as her assistant with the younger classes."

"That's new," said Harry. "What does assisting Professor Bulstrode consist of? I'd have thought the presence alone would be sufficient to cow the young."

"I suspect the idea is we will walk among them and function as a calmative," Iolanthe concluded. "Evans! Davis! Come here and let me give you your good-byes."

Iolanthe knelt down and put an arm around each of the twins. She puckered up for the ritual kiss and they turned their heads in panic.

"Oh, that's how it is?" said Iolanthe. She spoke something in parseltongue that sent them into howls of laughter.

"That was…?" said Daphne, turning to Harry.

"Oh, didn't hear it all," Harry said, although not very convincingly. "Being good to their mother while Iolanthe's away at school. Something of the sort."

Iolanthe hugged the twins then sprang up and put Harry in a bear hug.

"That was fun," she said in Harry's ear. "Keep me in mind when you need a collaborator."

Saying good-bye to Daphne wasn't as teary as it had been other years. Iolanthe had found her vocation and was traveling to Hogwarts to work with her mentor. When she completed seventh year she would go on and complete her qualifications, then join her distinguished mother in the long line of magical healers who lived lives in service to their fellow witches and wizards.

"Thank-you for everything, Mother," Iolanthe said. "One more year!"

"Yes, darling, I'm so envious! You're going to have such a good time, I know it," Daphne said. "I'll come as often as I can, but make sure Poppy knows she can owl me whenever she thinks it's necessary."

Iolanthe laughed out loud at Daphne's observation.

"Oh, I think she knows that already, Mother," she said.

Iolanthe and Daphne hugged one more time.

"I'm so proud of you," Daphne whispered, just for Iolanthe.

They pulled apart just as Rose and Scorpius walked up, trailing Draco in their wake. Iolanthe noticed they weren't holding hands, as such, but somehow the backs of their hands seemed to stay in such close proximity the effect was much the same.

"Nice pin," Iolanthe said to Rose.

Hermione Granger-Weasley brought up the tail of the delegation.

"Haven't I seen that before?" Daphne asked, waving her hand at the Head Girl pin on Rose's robe.

"Stop!" said Hermione, laughing as she dabbed her eyes. "I can't…It's just…"

Hermione put an end to her attempts at comment and simply put one arm around Rose's waist.

"Congratulations, Rose," said Harry. "We're all very happy and proud at the moment."

Rose's arrival began to divert a stream of both students and parents to the group. Everyone wanted to congratulate Rose and make some comment about how the honor was so well-deserved. Many of the students added assurances of support and offers of assistance during the coming year.

"Watch the time," Harry said. It really was about time for the engineer to blow the steam whistle, so the final rounds of hugs and squeezes and shoulder-clapping commenced. The adults stood together and watched the train pulling out, waving to every car whether they spotted someone they knew or not.

"Who would have thought?" Draco asked as the last car disappeared. "I really miss her at times like this."

Everyone knew he meant Astoria. In her final letter to Draco, Astoria had assured him she wanted her lads to have happy lives so he should be open to the possibility of finding another companion. She'd even advised Scorpius, in his letter, to be supportive of his father if another relationship emerged.

Draco, though, hadn't met anyone who interested him. He explained it to himself as the inevitable result of having been in a life-changing relationship with Astoria. Draco experienced fourteen years of a kind of happiness he'd have denied was possible prior to his courtship and marriage to Astoria. Besides that, Astoria's approach to living life to the fullest had slowly dissolved the crippling prejudices Draco's pureblood upbringing had imposed. Astoria reshaped the clay of Draco Malfoy and gave him back an improved human being. One of those per lifetime was surely the limit, Draco reasoned.

Daphne reached around Draco and pulled him close, letting her arm drop so she could link up with his. Both of them needed to sniff once or twice.

"Yes," Daphne said, "It's true. Still, at times like this, I believe I can feel her joy. Do you know what I mean? It was like an aura, sometimes so thick I almost felt it."

Daphne's eyes took on a dreamy look and her hand went up, flat, miming a push against something invisible right before them.

"She's here, one way or another," Daphne said. "She changed us all, everyone who was fortunate enough to know her. So she's here, in all she left behind."

"Gosh…" Draco tried, before the emotion caught up with him and he had to squinch his eyes shut. A little shudder shook his body but he recovered and stood up straight.

"Anytime you feel the need to feed the trout, Draco…," said Harry.

"Feed the trout," had become family jargon for going to The Mill as such visits always entailed engaging in one of Astoria's favorite activities. Individuals had their own views about just what phenomenon they were experiencing, but all agreed they felt something at The Mill that they couldn't feel anywhere but there. Harry took the fairies at their word. Anyone who had been at The Mill was still there, for the immortal fairies, who lived outside of time. All any of them could say for certain was that they went to The Mill in one state of mind and they came away in another.

"Good idea, Harry," said Draco. "That's a very good idea. You aren't using the place for anything right after this, are you? I think I'll go home that way."

Harry looked at Daphne, who shook her head.

"We aren't doing anything," Harry said. "Go on by. Sit on the bench for a bit."

The adults turned for the exit, taking their time, walking together and talking. Draco, the Granger-Weasleys and the Potters had all just sent children off to Hogwarts to commence their final year at the old school. Their own memories of seventh year came back, bidden or unbidden. The talk wound down, parent by parent, as thoughts rose, mist-like, and occupied consciousness. It had been bad. They all did what they believed they had to do, at the time. If that included things they now wished they hadn't done, they would just have to live with those. Their magical world was so much better now. Merlin bless the children and keep them safe.

 ** _Author's Note:_**

 ** _This concludes Wheels Within Wheels – Part Three – Iolanthe._**

 ** _I hope you have enjoyed reading the Wheels Within Wheels stories as much as I have enjoyed writing them. As always, the characters and venues belong to the great JK Rowling. We are forever in your debt, Ms. Rowling._**


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